Skip to main content

Full text of "Certain Samaritans, by Esther Pohl Lovejoy"

See other formats

ncOUf^ .. 

X Maries work 
in cooperation. with 
AME.R-. COlW<IM. for- 

De'va.sxated France 


Isabella Farr Broch-w^ayf 



. o 




Corft^^/' /f 


'O- A*l« rHmr^'S! 
(■ -|V_|,» 

^r^ostoli 5 


)) ^oy>o<ie>i«'V ’ f»P , 


^ cronijj 






^ I rr 

Rxr X,VriulL~^ 

★ re pres Qnts fvork of 

American women’s Hospitals 

Work in cooperation fvith : 

• Amer. Board of Commi 5 sioner^ 

tor FORElCrN Mi^>sions 

o Amer. Friends* Service Comm. 
Amer. Red Cross 
Near east Relief 

The A.W.H. is woricinp 
in cooperation veith the 
American Baptist Foreign 
Afissionarjr ^Society in 
ToJcyo f Fapan. 





C L A S 

s 2)40-3 Book L-34^ 
Vo LU M E 

State Library 



MACMILLAN & CO., Limited 




Digitized by the Internet Archive 
in 2016 


V 4(Mv*t|u^5»4i-|w-fMi*| tiji- Um 4 
tiwjP |it»i«il nv nvi- kt^M. 

■• ffir- i ■ m il 

1 — „ , 








All rights reserved 

CopymoHT, 1927, 


Set up and electrotyped. 
Published April, 1927. 








22 ^ 1:478 

Many of the photographs used in this book have 
been contributed by different persons to whom we 
wish to express appreciation. The illustration on 
the jacket was done by a refugee artist in Con- 
stantinople; the frontispiece was also painted by 
a refugee in Constantinople. On account of his 
talent, he was afterward sent to Paris where his 
work has already won recognition. 








“robustness” of our CHAUFFEUSES — A SKY 











EYES — nurses’ training THE TRADITIONAL 

























“the smile class” — THE BATTLE OF BARDAZAG 






MAN 83 




“plain tales from the hills” — THE STRIKE 

AND radishes” II4 

“the medical factory” A CATTLE COUNTRY 





































“the quick or the dead” — TURKISH JUSTIFI- 
CATION — “the terrible meek” — A JOCULAR 







KING Solomon’s mines^ — the grateful Turk 198 




IN CHIOS “the BALKAN BAt” .... 2O4 









mercy” 220 














“her majesty the queen” — “five hundred 
millionaires!” — MY FAR-AWAY COUSIN . 


NO bananas!” 









DONIAN cry: “malaria!” 














T he Balkan Peninsula lies between the devil and the 
deep sea. It is the natural path between Europe and 
Asia; the trail of invaders from both directions, dark Tar- 
tars and “white Huns”; the highway of the western push 
of the Turks for hundreds of years, and the eastern pressure 
of the Germans during this day and age; a rich poaching 
ground for neighboring nations, and a handy pawn for the 
great powers at times of negotiation. 

Bound on the north by the Magyars, et al, on the south 
by the Turks, on the east by the Tartars and the “Reds,” on 
the west by the Pope, on the southwest by the Caliph, in 
the center by the Patriarch and the Macedonian Comitadjis, 
and in every direction by disturbers of the peace, this stretch 
of territory is, and always has been, geographically, politi- 
cally, and religiously adapted to the development of history, 
making episodes. 

Political and religious crimes are common in the Balkans 
and adjacent countries round about the Black Sea, across 
the Bosphorus, and along the coast of Asia Minor. Inci- 
dents, which would be classed as epochal in Western 
Europe, pass without notice in these bad lands, unless out- 
siders are involved. The dramatic unities would have been 
violated if fate had sent the Grand Duke Ferdinand in any 
other direction to start the World War, and the chances 
are the explosion would have held fire until some “incident” 


in the Balkans, or the Near East, could be used to set 
it off. 

In a general way, the history of this part of the earth’s 
surface may be divided into three periods: before the Turk, 
under the Turk, and after the Turk. Long, long before the 
Turk, the spiritual and intellectual life which survives in our 
present day western world, divinely planted in the minds of 
men, developed in the southern section of the Balkan Penin- 
sula, the iEgean Islands, and along the coast of Asia 
Minor. This is the glory that was — and is Greece. 

The goal of the Ancient Greeks was a dominant world 
culture, and, with the help of their enemies in different ages, 
this goal has been realized in large measure. Efforts to 
stamp out Hellenism in the land of its nativity spread it 
broadcast over the western world. Uprooted by Turkish 
whirlwinds and scattered over fertile fields, it took root and 
became a vital part of the civilization under which we live. 

At the dawn of the Renaissance, the Balkans caught the 
gleam of the rising sun, which was almost immediately 
eclipsed by the spreading power of Islam. During the cen- 
turies of this relapse, the dark age south of the Danube 
seemed darker by contrast with the light and life of western 
Europe. Wherever the Turk ruled, the status of the unbe- 
liever was reduced to the lowest possible point. Those of 
conquerable soul accepted the “Faith” and joined the gov- 
erning class, while those of unconquerable soul watched, 
waited, hoped, prayed, and fought like devils for the day of 
deliverance and the glory of God. 

During the fourteenth, fifteenth, sixteenth, and part of 
the seventeenth centuries, the conquering hordes of the 
Sultan carried the Crescent steadily toward the northwest, 
subjugating country after country. If the defenders of the 
Cross, the Pope and Patriarch, had combined their forces, 
they might have stopped this movement at any stage. But 
the prayers of the “Faithful” seemed as potent then as they 
are now: “Allah unite not the Giaours!” 



The Christian church was a house divided against itself. 
The Roman Catholic countries of Europe were not worry- 
ing about the Orthodox Catholic countries of the Balkans, 
which the Turks were conquering. There was an element 
of retribution in their subjugation. But when Hungary fell 
into the hands of the infidels, Hungary, the undefiled, and 
fair Austria and Poland stood next in line, there was howl- 
ing and gnashing of teeth and calling to arms throughout 
all Europe. 

At the gates of Vienna, John Sobieski, the Polish King 
of blessed memory, turned the Turks backward toward 
Asia. As soon as they were south of the Danube in the 
domain of the Patriarch, the western world rejoiced and 
began to discern some justification In their occupation of 
that territory, at least until It became convenient for the 
more enlightened nations of the North to take over the 

But the Serbians, Roumanians, Greeks and other Balkan 
peoples wanted to be free. Generation after generation, 
their children were born and dedicated to the task of liber- 
ating the land. United they might easily have accomplished 
this end, but they were naturally incompatible, and their 
enemies fostered internal quarrels, pointing with diplomatic 
deprecation to the “cock-pit of Europe,” while doing their 
utmost to keep the fight going. In spite of all these handi- 
caps and difficulties, the invaders were gradually dislodged 
during the past hundred years. In 1912, those little coun- 
tries got together for a final drive and would have finished 
the job by the Balkan War, but separate national Interests 
were hard to adjust, and again a division was effected by 
outside influences operating in favor of Turkey, for the pur- 
pose of maintaining the “balance of power.” 

Then came the World War and Turkey joined the Cen- 
tral Empires. While the great Christian nations were 
engaged in the barbarous business of killing each other on 
a colossal scale, they could hardly protest against the Turks 



participating in the general carnage within their own bor- 
ders. In accordance with the policy of Turkification, a 
monstrous scheme for the extermination of Armenians was 
put into practice during the early years of the war. Turkey 
doubtless anticipated a rich reward and large territory to 
Turkify if the Central Powers won; but they lost, and the 
surviving Christian minorities thought the day of deliver- 
ance from Turkish rule was at hand. It was — but not in 
the way they had hoped and anticipated. The Allies failed 
of their promises. The Bolshevik Revolution in Russia 
destroyed the protective influence of the Russian Orthodox 
Church, and the defeat of the Greek Army in Anatolia in 
1922 left the Christian population at the mercy of their 
Turkish masters. 

The holocaust at Smyrna was the spectacular finale of 
the general Christian clean-up in Turkey. “Giaour Ismir,” 
the Infidel City, went up in flames, and the Christian people 
fled for their lives from every part of the country. With 
this fact accomplished, the Turks sat down with the Allies 
at Lausanne, a few months later, to negotiate terms of 
peace, and probably did as well for themselves as they 
would have done if they had been negotiating with the 
triumphant Central Powers. 

The exodus of the Children of Israel has recently been 
shown throughout the United States in a moving picture, 
the theme of which is the eternal application of the Ten 
Commandments. And even while this picture was being 
filmed in America, the Exodus of the Children of Christian- 
ity from Turkey, the greatest migration in the history of 
mankind, was actually taking place. 

I was on the railroad pier at Smyrna during most of the 
daylight hours from September 24-30, 1922, the week of 
the great evacuation. Bent with the weight of all their 
worldly possessions which they carried on their backs, 
approximately three hundred thousand Christian people, 
mostly women and children, walked the plank — the long 

Dr. Elfie Richards Graff, examining a lovely child at the “Well Babies 
Clinic,” Kokinia, Greece, 1927. 

Children’s Ward, Kokinia Hospital. 

Three Refugees — Physician, Nurse and Patient. 

These three women, who were almost blind, were led by different children 
from their neighborhood to the A. \V. H. Eye Clinic for treatment. 

Miss Mabelle Phillips, Dr. Elfie R. (iraff and Dr. Ruth Parmelee, at the 
Temple of ..Tsculapius, Epidaurus, Greece. 

Dr. Lula TIukt Peters iv Albaxian Costume. 



plank pier, their Via Dolorosa, to the refugee ships on which 
they were transported from their native land to Greece. 

The picture of the biblical exodus falls far short of the 
Smyrna spectacle, but in many respects the old story repeats 
itself — the suffering, murmuring, despair, death and failure 
of faith. In the light of the recent experience, it is easier 
to understand the statement: “But as for you, your car- 
casses, they shall fall in the wilderness. And your children 
shall wander in the wilderness for forty years.” 

An uprooted nation cannot replant itself in less than one 
human season, a generation. The Children of Christianity 
from Turkey are still wandering in the “wilderness” of 
Greece, especially in the less accessible districts of Mace- 
donia. The “carcasses” of an unnumbered multitude have 
already fallen in the “wilderness”; hundreds of thousands 
are gradually adjusting themselves to a new life, and hun- 
dreds of thousands are still shifting and seeking malaria- 
free places, where they can earn a living and establish new 

From the beginning of this great migration physicians 
and nurses of the American Women’s Hospitals moved 
with the outcasts from island to island and from shore to 
hinterland. Hospitals, clinics, food stations, a quarantine 
island and camps for pestilential diseases have been con^ 
ducted, and a larger service for the sick, among these 
refugees in Greece, has been carried by our organization 
than that of all other American agencies combined. This 
work is still going on. 

How did the American women in our service happen to 
be in the immediate field at the time of this epochal call? 
How did I happen to be on the railroad pier at Smyrna when 
the Christian population of that old city left the land of 
their fathers to take refuge in the only country which would 
receive them? The answer to these questions might involve 
the history of the feminist movement since Eve moved out 
of Eden, or it might be covered by the universal answer to 



difficult questions, employed in France between 1914 and 
1918, to wit, “C’est la Guerre.” 

C’est la Guerre. This was the beginning — the first reason 
why the American Women’s Hospitals was established 
by the Medical Women’s National Association in 1917, 
for the purpose of serving the sick in war-stricken 
countries. The plan expanded in answer to' the needs, and 
medical relief work has been and is now being conducted in 
different parts of the world. This service has not been a bed 
of roses. Sometimes it has been a bed of straw in a box car, 
a rug on the deck of a sailing smack, or a cot in a typhus 
camp. Our hospitalers have endured discomforts, survived 
diseases and manifold dangers, but they have lived abun- 
dantly and stored up riches within themselves upon which 
they may draw as the years go by. They can never be poor 
though they die in the almshouse — the place would be en- 
riched by their presence. 

As a humanitarian achievement the American Women’s 
Hospitals holds a unique place in the field of foreign relief. 
This service is best known by those who have been sick and 
in distress, and unfortunately, few such people write for 
newspapers and periodicals. We have never been rich 
enough to maintain a publicity department, at home or 
abroad, for the purpose of keeping the details of our work 
before the public, and hereby hangs many a tale untold — 
many a thrilling story of heroism, and many an interesting 
item, which might have been added to Associated Press 
dispatches and cabled around the world to our advantage. 

This relief agency, which was inaugurated while the 
United States was mobilizing for war, is the outgrowth of 
the desire of American medical women for their share of 
the work they were qualified to perform. Our Government 
provided for the enlistment of nurses, but not for women 
physicians. This was a mistake. It is utterly impossible 
to leave a large number of well-trained women out of a 



service in which they belong, for the reason that they won’t 
stay out. 

The men of the medical profession were called to the 
colors. The nation stood ready to provide transportation, 
buildings, medical and hospital supplies, rations, rank, 
salary, insurance and well-fitting shoes. We were grateful 
for the opportunity of service and concomitant blessings 
enjoyed by our professional brothers, and from the stand- 
point of our disadvantage, we rejoiced in their good fortune. 

The women of the medical profession were not called to 
the colors, but they decided to go anyway. War Service 
Committees had been appointed by groups of medical 
women in different states for the purpose of organizing hos- 
pital units. Anticipating the course of the country, Dr. 
Josephine Walter and other New York medical women had 
organized the Woman’s Army General Hospital Unit, for 
New York City, in July, 1916, almost a year before this 
nation joined the Allies. Preliminary work of a similar 
nature had been undertaken by the women physicians of 
Massachusetts and other states. 

The Medical Women’s Association, which met 
in New York in June, 1917, adopted a naive resolution 
calling upon the War Department for a square deal regard- 
less of sex, color, or previous condition of servitude. This 
resolution was supplemented by the creation of a War 
Service Committee, after which we probably sang, “We 
won’t come back, till It’s over, over there.” Actual warfare 
is over, over there, but we are concerned with the care of 
the sick, the healing of wounds and the rebuilding of human 
lives. Our work is not yet over, over there, and for this 
reason we have not come back. 

Dr. Bertha Van Hoosen, who was president of the Med- 
ical Women’s National Association in 1917, appointed Dr. 
Rosalie Slaughter Morton of New York City, chairman 
of the War Service Committee, in which capacity she served 



for one year. At the first meeting called by the chairman 
on June 9, 1917, I was authorized to go to Europe as the 
official representative of the Medical Women’s National 
Association, and instructed to confer with Dr. Anna 
Howard Shaw, who had just been appointed Chairman of 
the Women’s Committee, National Council of Defense, by 
the War Department. This committee had been created 
for the purpose of coordinating the activities of the organ- 
ized bodies of women in the United States. 

A conference of the presidents and representatives of 
forty national, state and other associations of women, met 
in Washington, June 19, 1917. Dr. Anna Howard Shaw 
presided. Mr. Hoover urged the conservation of food and 
the support of the American Red Cross. Dr. Eliza M. 
Mosher of Brooklyn, N. Y., was delegate from the Medical 
Women’s National Association. Her appointment was 
peculiarly fitting. The soul of the service represented was 
symbolized in her personality. Tall, straight, strong, un- 
conscious of her threescore years and ten, her impressive 
figure might well have been chosen as a model for “The 
Woman Physician’’ and copied in bronze as an inspiration 
to future generations. With a background of almost half 
a century of service in the medical profession, she looked 
forward eagerly to the high duties of the immediate future, 
briefly and vividly stating the case of the American women 
physicians, calling attention to the handicaps under which 
they were working, reporting the appointment of the War 
Service Committee of the Medical Women’s National Asso- 
ciation, and bespeaking the cooperation of other organiza- 
tions of women in plans for the relief of the sick and 
wounded at home and abroad. 

The suffering of noncombatant populations, particularly 
women and children, in war-stricken countries, was dis- 
cussed at length, and the following resolution, drafted by 
Ellis Meredith, and introduced by Dr. Mosher, was 
adopted : 



Kate C. Mead, M.D. Katherine C. Manlon, M.D. Anna B. Blount, M.D. 
I923‘24 1924-25 1925-26 

Etta Gray, M.D. 

Martha Tracy, M.D. 

Elizabeth Bass, M.D. 

Grace N. Kimball, M.D. 

Bertha VanHoosen, M.D. 

Angenette Parry, M.D. 

>Ti M 



liza M. Mosher, M.D., Hon. 
res. Medical Women’s National 

Frances Eastman Rose, M.D., 
Pres. Medical Women’s National 
Association, 1926-27. 

Elizabeth B. Thelberg, M.D., Pres. Medical Women’s Nat. Association, 
1927-28, with one of her grandchildren. 



Esther Pohl Lovejoy, M.D. 
Chmn. Ex. I>d. A. W. II., Pres. Med. 
Women’s International Association, 

Gertrude A. Walker, M.D. 
First Vice-Chairman 

Mathilda K. Wallin, M.D. 

Harriet F. Coffin, M.D. 
Third Vice-Chairman 

Inez A. Bentley, M.D. 
Recording Secretary 

Fourth Vice-Chairman 

Rosalie S. Morton, 
Chmn. Ex. Hd. A.WMI. 
ly 17-18 

Mary M. Crawford, M. I"). Emilv D. Barringer, M.O. 
Chmn. Ex. Bd. A.W.H. Vice-Chmn. Ex. B. A.W.IE 

Caroline M. Purnell, M.D. 

Sue Radcliff, M.D. 

Frances Cohen, M.D. 


Evatigeline Caven, M.D. Clara Williams, M.D. Louise Tayler-Jones, M.D. 
Serb. Child Welfare Asso. Near East Relief Wellesley I nit 




WHEREAS the Red Cross has recently sent a Commission of 
seventeen men abroad to investigate needs, and 

WHEREAS the Medical Women’s National Association has 
asked Dr. Esther Lovejoy to go to France to investigate the 
condition of women, THEREFORE BE IT 

RESOLVED, That we ask the Red Cross to add Dr. Love- 
joy to their commission. • 

This resolution was not acted upon favorably by the 
American Red Cross, but it introduced the Medical Wom- 
en’s National Association at a time when plans for war 
relief work by different groups were in process of incuba- 
tion, and was the forerunner of friendly relations which 
have been maintained for the past ten years. The Red 
Cross helped us from the beginning with good counsel at 
home and large quantities of supplies in the field of service. 
Dr. Morton, Dr. Mary M. Crawford, Dr. Caroline Purnell, 
Dr. Inez Bentley, Mrs. Charlotte Conger and other repre- 
sentatives of the American Women’s Hospitals conferred 
with the Red Cross officials regarding all of our early plans, 
to the end that this service was arranged to fit into the 
general plan for the relief of suffering. 

In the beginning there was light, but no funds. Our 
workers were all volunteers and paid for the privilege by 
financing, according to their means, part of the service in 
which they were engaged. The cost of travel, equipment, 
supplies, and general overhead was carried in this way. 
Week after week, month after month, the American Wom- 
en’s Hospitals grew, and naturally suffered growing pains. 
Active, honorary, and advisory committees were appointed, 
and an auxiliary board, of which Miss Emily O. Butler of 
New York was chairman, rendered valuable service in se- 
curing funds. Inspirational meetings were held and gifts 
of clothing, surgical Instruments, ambulances, and other 
equipment were received. The following Is quoted from 
the report of Dr. Rosalie Slaughter Morton, first Chairman 
of the War Service Committee of the Medical Women’s 


National Association, at the end of her term of service, 
June, 1918. 

To the President 

The Medical Women’s National Association 
I have the honor to submit the following report: 

The American Women’s Hospitals was organized and put 
in operation in June, 1917, by the War Service Committee of 
the Medical Women’s National Association. I was appointed 
chairman of the Executive Committee, and associated with me 
were Dr. Emily Dunning Barringer, vice-chairman ; Dr. Mary 
Merrit Crawford, corresponding secretary; Dr. Frances Cohen, 
recording secretary; Dr. Belle Thomas, associate corresponding 
secretary; Dr. Sue Radcliff, treasurer. This committee has been 
gradually increased as the need of the work demanded, and the 
following names have been added: Dr. Mathilda K. Wallin, 
second vice-chairman ; Dr. Caroline M. Purnell, third vice- 
chairman; Dr. Marie L. Chard, assistant treasurer; Dr. Ger- 
trude A. Walker, chairman of Finance Committee; Mrs. Con- 
ger, executive secretary; Miss Bertha Rembaugh, Counselor. 

Over a thousand women physicians registered with 
the American Women’s Hospitals during the first year, and 
in accordance with the provisions of a special agreement, a 
large number of these were certified to the Red Cross for 
service in France, Italy, Poland and the Balkan States. The 
following cable regarding this matter was sent in March, 
1918, by Henry P. Davison, American Red Cross: 

Perkins, Harjes, Paris. 

6880 — 2364, 

Heartily favor accepting offer of American Women’s Hos- 
pitals to organize personnel for hospitals or dispensaries to serve 
in any country under direction of American Red Cross. Dis- 
pensaries and hospitals to be known as American Women’s 
Hospitals of American Red Cross, in charge women doctors, 
subject to general control and direction of Red Cross Com- 
mission. May be used for civil or military purposes under 
your direction. This plan meets with entire approval of Medi- 
cal Advisory Board and War Council provided you recommend. 

light— BUT NO FUNDS ii 

Advise whether you approve and if so how many such dispen- 
saries or hospitals you can use to advantage and size of each unit. 


Possibilities for service were opening in different direc- 
tions, but we were handicapped by lack of funds. In the 
language of an eager salesman, the American Women’s 
Hospitals was a “selling proposition,” but our leaders were 
physicians of the old school and loath to go into the busi- 
ness of getting money in a direct business way. During 
the first year from June, 1917, to June, 1918, only $24,000 
was raised, but a campaign committee had been appointed 
under the leadership of Dr. Gertrude A. Walker and dur- 
ing the second year over $300,000 was received for the sup- 
port of the American Women’s Hospitals. 

In August, 1917, I sailed for France on the old ship 
Chicago, with Dr. Alice Barlow Brown of WInnetka, 
Illinois. The chronological age of the Chicago Is a 
matter of record regarding which I have no Information, 
but actual age Is physiological; it depends upon the quality 
of material In the beginning, and the wear, tear and repair 
of the years. 

The age limit Is a terrible thing. The Red Cross had 
notified our committee that the age limit for women accept- 
able for overseas service was, with special exceptions, be- 
tween twenty-five and forty years. Therefore, we were all 
under forty. The official old age limit for men was fifty- 
five, in spite of the fact that women are better Insurance 
risks at that age. This ruling had evidently been made by 
men who could qualify under It, but forty was our limit, and 
all the women on the Chicago were doing their best to 
conform to this requirement. 

An atmosphere of hope and expectation pervaded the 
ship. None of us knew just what we were going to do, but 
we all entertained an inward and outward conviction that 
we had been appointed to live at this day and age for good 



and sufficient reasons which would be revealed in due time. 
Dr. Alice Barlow Brown, with a nurse and interpreter, 
had been sent over by the American Fund for French 
Wounded. They were assigned for duty in the Meurthe-et- 
Moselle, and I joined the medical staff of the Children’s 
Bureau of the American Red Cross at Paris. My special 
job was to investigate and report on organizations applying 
for relief, and my duties took me into different parts of 
France, and offered unusual opportunities for making ob- 
servations which were afterward embodied in a report to 
the Medical Women’s National Association. 

At the beginning of the second year of the American 
Women’s Hospitals service. Dr. Mary M. Crawford of 
New York City, my predecessor, was appointed chairman 
of the Executive Board, and served until June, 1919. Dur- 
ing her incumbency, medical women were sent to serve in 
different parts of Europe and Near Eastern countries, our 
cooperative work with other organizations was extended, 
and our independent work was established in France and 
undertaken in the Balkans. 





T he American Women’s Hospital No. i was opened in 
the Village of Neufmoutiers, Seine et Marne, in July, 
1918, under the direction of Dr. Barbara Hunt, of Bangor, 
Maine. A building was assigned for this purpose by the 
Sixth French Army with the understanding that the hos- 
pital should be available for both civil and military cases. 
This was the first hospital conducted and financed entirely 
by our committee. I should like to say that it ran like 
clockwork from the beginning, but this would not be the 
truth. As a matter of fact, it ran like most of the hospitals 
in the war zone, in a very uncertain fashion, but it stayed 
in the field, gaining strength as time went by. Within 
a few months, as the Germans evacuated territory, our hos- 
pital moved joyously toward the north, where the need was 
greater and the facilities for work much better. 

The following account is taken largely, and sometimes 
quoted verbatim from the letters and reports of Dr. Hunt, 
Dr. M. Louise Hurrell, Dr. Ethel V. Fraser, Dr. Hazel D. 
Bonness and other medical women, who served with Hos- 
pital No. I in the field, and from the reports of Dr. Caroline 
M. Purnell and Dr. Frances Cohen, who visited France as 
special commissioners of the American Women’s Hospitals. 

History was being made rapidly during the summer months 
of 1918. France was holding her breath in expectation of the 




renewed offensive, and the struggle for the possession of the 
Marne at Chateau-Thierry was still swaying back and forth in 
uncertainty. There were nightly raids on Paris, only twenty 
miles away, and at dawn we were wakened by the dull thunder 
of guns and flashes of light toward the northeast. Bombs were 
dropped on neighboring villages occasionally by the “Gothas,” 
and the Allied Air Squadrons, great “V” shaped wedges, like 
flocks of geese 25 to 30 in number, with small scouting machines 
patrolling their flanks, swept overhead daily on their way to the 

In the midst of this excitement, our hospital building was 
prepared for use as quickly as possible. The furniture was 
packed, carpets taken up by a squad of “poilus,” and four large 
rooms converted into wards with a capacity of fifty beds. The 
servants’ dining room, with painted walls, tiled floor and run- 
ning water, was chosen for the operating room, and a small 
round tower room adjoining, reserved for the use of our radiolo- 

The Allied counter drive, destined to end the war, was begun 
July eighteenth. For several days before this the gray-blue 
and khaki-clad soldiers had been disappearing from the district, 
and within a week our commanding officer ordered building 
repairs and preparations discontinued. The Army had moved 
back into the Aisne and our refugees were returning to their 
homes. A new location in the devastated region was to be 
assigned for our hospital, and in the meantime two physicians, 
with nurses, were to proceed at once to Meaux to assist in the 
treatment of wounded French soldiers arriving by ambulance 
from the front. 

While waiting for the promised new location in the devas- 
tated region, medical dispensaries were opened and also a dental 
service established at Neufmoutiers. At this time, one of our 
doctors with an ambulance was making daily visits to villages 
in the Aisne, holding consultations and bringing the sick to the 
hospital. Most of the refugees were picking up their meager 
belongings and trudging back to their homes, and in September 
we, too, packed up our troubles, and moved to the village of 
Luzancy sur Marne, fifteen miles from Chateau-Thierry. 

Our hospital was installed in the Luzancy Chateau. The 
building had been in almost constant use as a hospital since 
the beginning of the war, first by the Germans, then by the 


French, and last by oUr own Amerlcahsl -This was a dear 
old place, with a frontage on the bank of the Marne. 
Which bank? The Marne meanders up and down and 
around about regardless of geographic direction. The 
Luzancy Chateau and grounds occupied territory In one of 
the many loops of this winding stream. There was no com- 
pass In our equipment, but the A. W. H. workers got along 
very well without knowing their exact position In relation 
to one of the most famous rivers on the face of the earth. 

From a purely picturesque standpoint, the Marne was 
lovely at Luzancy, and the park a wild and woodsy place 
where startled birds and pert little chipmunks darted here 
and there among the trees during daylight hours, and bats, 
owls and real fireflies came out at night. Sunlight or moon- 
light, these woods were enchanting; shifting beams of light 
were always breaking through the leafy foliage, casting elu- 
sive shadows, such as were caught on canvas by Corot, who 
at one time lived In a house overlooking these grounds. 

While the general clean-up was in progress, and the dif- 
ferent systems of the building were being restored to run- 
ning conditions, and whitewashers were doing their utmost 
to make a ravishing but Infected old chateau look like a 
clean new hospital, thirteen dispensaries were established 
in outlying districts to meet the immediate need for medical 
assistance. The passage of troops, and the occupation of 
villages by large numbers of soldiers in the spring and 
summer of 1918, had resulted In a scarcity of food and a 
very insanitary state of affairs. The returning refugees 
were In a run-down physical condition. The stage was set 
for epidemics. Diphtheria and scarlet fever appeared. 
These diseases were soon controlled, but typhoid and influ- 
enza, spreading over the district, reached the proportions 
of a disaster. 

The installation of the American Women’s Hospital No. 
I, with village dispensaries and ambulance service, seemed 
heaven-sent at that critical time. Hundreds of people were 




I . . > * 

sick, and the district was practically without medical sup- 
plies or physicians, except the two women doctors with the 
American Committee for Devastated France who were 
working in association with our corps. 

While the typhoid Infection was widespread, it was more 
malignant in some places than in others. Twelve virulent 
cases developed in a nearby village, four of which were chil- 
dren belonging to the same family. The courtyard of this 
home was reeking with filth and swarming with flies. One 
after another the children sickened and died, and the poor 
mother was almost frantic when her last child was taken to 
our hospital. Fortunately, this little one recovered. 

During the typhoid epidemic, which lasted three months, 
our medical staff became emergency health officers. Double 
shod with supplementary sabots, they shuffled through barn- 
yard filth from one hovel to another. Streets and courtyards 
were cleaned, decaying debris dug out of holes and corners, 
and these disease breeding spots liberally sprinkled with 
disinfectants. Most of the villages were without drainage, 
and the members of our organization who served in 
France were personally familiar with such plumbing 
fixtures as existed in the war zone — but this is a subject 
for diplomats. 

As a preventive measure, practically the entire population 
in Infected areas was given anti-typhoid inoculations. No- 
tices were posted and announcements made by the town 
crier regarding the time and place chosen for this work. 
Sometimes the village bell, which usually tolled for ceremo- 
nies or calamities, was rung. When the people assembled, 
which they always did promptly, to hear what new troubles 
impended, the official speaker explained that the Germans 
were not coming, but that typhoid fever in a virulent form 
had appeared in the community; that it v/as possible to pre- 
vent this disease by anti-typhoid inoculations, and that 
American women physicians were present, and prepared to 
give these treatments. 


The following is a copy of an official notice regarding 
our anti-typhoid activities : 

Commune de VIELS-MA /SONS 


/Tiie 4 - 


I (//(' ■//'Y , *' 

•■ yiUYCYffY ~ /Ct rrr. 

~i/!/Yf^-*YYy / itiri:^ftc -; 

y tYtii/i. 'Ai>r*C£.rtA . ^ yi/OYCYtiYfCY /y^ 



I Jm t 


C.« ^ ' 


• ' n;} 

The town crier supplemented this announcement. The 
people assembled at the Town Hall where seventy-five were 
vaccinated by two of our doctors, who afterward went to 
the next commune to do similar work, A thorough anti- 
typhoid campaign was conducted throughout our district, 
with the result that this disease was on the decline when 
influenza appeared. 

Shut off from the rest of the world, our workers did not 
know that influenza was sweeping over the earth like a 



prairie fire, and the villagers wondered why they were 
afflicted with one scourge after another. Here again the 
American women doctors and nurses seemed heaven-sent, 
as they would have been in any part of the world where this 
death-dealing plague was raging. 

Calls came from every direction. The French officials 
forgot their other duties in their anxiety for the sick. The 
cars and ambulances of the American Women’s Hospitals 
were running day and night, and before the end of this 
epidemic we were caring for the sick in over a hundred 

These poor people were ill prepared for such a visitation. 
Twice during the war they had been driven from their 
homes, and for four years had lived from hand to mouth 
in strange places. In the fall of 1918 they had crept back 
behind the advancing American and French armies, and had 
taken refuge under any sort of shelter they could find near 
their ruined homes. Stricken with influenza in these cold, 
damp places, many of them developed pneumonia and died. 
Time after time the ambulances of the American Women’s 
Hospitals were stopped on the highway by officials of dif- 
ferent districts asking for help, and letters making similar 
requests were received daily. One of these letters was ad- 
dressed to Monsieur le Directeur de I’Hopital Mllitaire de 
Luzancy. The translation reads as follows: 

Because of the epidemic of grippe, which actually exists in 
the Commune of Dhuisy and particularly in the Commune of 
Germigny Coulomb, First Lieutenant Escoffier, army doctor of 
the Cantonment at Germigny Coulomb, has the honor to ask 
that immediate succor (doctors and nurses) should be assured 
to the numerous sick whose condition is being aggravated, lack- 
ing medicine and other necessary care. With thanks in advance 
pray accept. Monsieur le Directeur, my respectful salutations. 

This officer manifestly did not know that our work was 
conducted by women, but when help is needed in such emer- 
gencies, sex is immaterial. The influenza in the communes 


mentioned above was of a malignant type and the death rate 
very high. Our physicians and nurses passed from house 
to house seeking the sick, and at one wretched place a 
family of six stricken with this disease was found and taken 
to the hospital. 

Meanwhile, other branches of the American Women’s 
Hospitals’ service were developing, as the following ex- 
cerpts, quoted from letters, clearly indicate: 

Dr. Manwaring came in late last night, tired but contented, 
with sixty-five patients in a radius of thirty miles to her credit. 
From the opposite direction, Dr. Fraser and Miss Drummond 
appeared. They had been sent, several days before, to arrange 
for a hospital at La Ferte-Milon, and returned with tales of shell 
holes in their damp, fireless bedrooms, but happy and enthusiastic 
regarding the outlook. The hospital building is being repaired, 
and a dispensary service to outlying villages is already being 
operated from that center. 

Our dispensary under Dr. Mary MacLachlan at Luzancy 
grows and grows. On Sunday, the place looked absolutely 
affluent. In addition to the usual crowd, which in spite of weak- 
ness from sickness, walks impossible distances, there were five 
conveyances lined up with patients from ever so far away. Yes, 
we work on Sundays! It is wicked, but there is no chance to 
go to church anyway, and as a choice of sins, under the circum- 
stances, it would be more sinful to rest. 

The American Women’s Hospital at Luzancy was fully 
equipped for military service, when It was Inspected and 
accepted by General LeMoIne, director of the Medical 
Corps of the Fifth Division, as a French military hospital. 
It was known as “Hopital No. 92 bis,” and was to be used by 
the Sixth Army. The hospital for civilian relief was con- 
ducted In another part of the building. The work of this 
unit proved so satisfactory that the American Red Cross 
sent for six more units of the same kind. In October, 1918, 
the following cable regarding this matter was transmitted 
to our New York headquarters: 



28051 Please communicate the following to H. P. Davison. 

16010 8936 Send at once two American Women’s Hospital 
units, and one per month hereafter until six are floated. These 
hospitals will be known as the American Women’s Hospitals 
Units, Nos. I to 6 of the American Red Cross, and will be used 
under arrangements with the French Service de Sante in French 
Hospitals, where sick and wounded Americans may be received, 
or in French Hospitals caring for refugees. Believe arrange- 
ments concluded with French service will make for utilization 
of these units in such a manner as can render greatest amount 
of service. 

Personnel should include ten medical officers and ten aids. 
We will supply nurses. Should bring hospital equipment and 
tentage of standard U. S. Army Bed Camp Hospital, and be 
paid as far as possible out of funds already collected by American 
Women’s Hospitals. 

Desirable that one truck, one camionette and one touring car, 
with chauffeurs, should be provided and accompany each unit. 

Personnel will be held with unit if possible, but must come 
recognizing that they are part of general American Red Cross 
service and subject to rules and directions. 


Harges — Finances. 

This was a big order, but hundreds of well qualified med- 
ical women, registered from the different states, were anx- 
ious for service, and it was merely a matter of selection. 
The first two groups, the Chicago and California units, 
were organized and ready to sail when the armistice was 

All Saints’ Day and All Souls’ Day will never be for- 
gotten by the American personnel who were serving at the 
Luzancy Hospital in 1918. In happier years these days 
may have been observed in an impersonal, ceremonial 
way. But All Souls’ Day in 1918 was Souls’ Day in 

The Luzancy Chateau, our hospital building, had for- 
merly been used as an evacuation hospital for the American 
forces at Belleau Wood and Chateau-Thierry. In a lovely 
corner of the park were the graves of twelve American sol- 


Dr. Barbara Hunt, first director, 
American Women's Hospitals, 

Dr. Mary Evans, Hospital No. i, 
Luzancy, France. 

Dr. M. Ethel V. Fraser, Director of Hospital No. 2, visiting the sick 

in her district. 

Executive Committee, American Women’s Hospitals, Luzancv, France Dr 
M. Hurrell, Director (r;V//./); Dr. Inez Bentley, Assistant Director 
(center) \ Mrs. Frnilie Lehman, Commissary, 1919. 

The Surgery. 


diers who had died of their wounds at the hospital. Their 
families were far away across the ocean, but these dead 
were not forgotten. Led by the Mayor of Luzancy, the 
villagers for miles around, men, women, children and many 
old people who remembered 1870, marched in procession 
to the park and laid their flowers reverently on the graves 
of these Americans. 

The preparations for military work at the Luzancy Hos- 
pital were easily adapted to civilian relief after the armis- 
tice. Dr. M. Louise Hurrell of Rochester, N. Y., suc- 
ceeded Dr. Hunt as director. Under the French Service de 
Sante, our hospital was connected with the “Hopital Mixte 
No. 2” at Coulommiers, which meant special privileges in 
securing surgical dressings, gasoline, fuel and other hospital 

With the return of the refugees, our work increased 
enormously. People flocking into the devastated regions, 
eager to rebuild their homes, were living under conditions 
conducive to disease. Within a few weeks our circuit had 
expanded to the limit of our motor capacity, and In order 
to cover a larger field other centers with doctor, nurse, 
chauffeuse and ambulance, were established. The living 
quarters of our personnel In some of these places were far 
from luxurious. Barracks, ruined houses with paper win- 
dows and shelled roofs, were furnished with cots and pack- 
ing-box dressers, and, strange as It may seem, these habita- 
tions immediately developed an American atmosphere. 
Where a Kansas woman keeps house, there Is Kansas, and 
this holds for every state In the Union. 

Medical relief was most needed in the districts where 
the devastation Was greatest. The best available buildings 
for our centers were sometimes In the ruins of churches, 
cellars or houses with part of the roof gone the way of 
most things In the devastated regions. When a room could 
be found with a stove in working order and fuel great was 
the rejoicing, for there was warmth. This is a wonderful 



word to those suffering from cold. It ranks with food to 
the hungry, and relief to those in pain. 

Warmth in the winter feels like home to an American 
accustomed to warm houses, warm cars, and warm baths, 
and cold feels like France, Serbia and Russia. There are 
Americans who served In different warring countries who 
have decided to have their bodies cremated because they 
never want to be cold again, not even after they die. 

The dental service of the American Women’s Hospitals 
will be a joy forever In France — at least as long as our fill- 
ings last. The fair fame of American dentists in European 
Capitols antedated the World War by several decades. The 
rich and powerful had employed American dentists for 
years, and the doings of the rich and powerful are emulated, 
If possible, by the poor. Doctors, midwives and undertakers 
were recognized necessities, but dentists were luxuries, and 
American dentists could be afforded by the opulent only. 
These favored beings kept bodyservants of all kinds — 
maids, valets, frisseurs, masseurs — but the last word, the 
ultimate expression of physical and cosmetic conservation, 
was the employment of an American dentist. 

The American Women’s Hospital No. i had three den- 
tists on the staff. Dr. Kate A. Doherty, Dr. Edna Ward, and 
Dr. DeLan Kinney of New York City. Dr. Doherty began 
work at Neufmoutlers, and served overtime from the begin- 
ning until the end of her stay In France. Most of her work 
was with children and young men. From Neufmoutlers, she 
was sent to Boullay-Thlerry and thence to Viels Malsons, 
where she worked for the French soldiers. Meanwhile, 
Dr. Ward and Dr. Kinney were engaged at Luzancy. They 
were all too popular for their own good. When the day’s 
work was done there was always somebody begging for 
attention, which was never refused. 

The gratuitous service of American women dentists was 
a war privilege of real value. A woman dentist had never 
been seen In that section of France. They were rare crea- 


tures, far more Interesting than men dentists, their work 
was just as good, and they seemed to have a conscience 
regarding people’s teeth. They did not extract them with- 
out considering the ultimate consequences to the victims. 
They treated the teeth of soldiers and refugees just as 
though they were their own teeth, and thereby hangs a 
feeling of gratitude, which will recur to the beneficiaries 
whenever they need a dentist, as the years go by. 

The American Women’s Hospital No. 2 was established 
at La Ferte-MIlon In the arrondlssement of Chateau- 
Thierry, Department of the Aisne, under Dr. Ethel V. 
Fraser of Denver, Colorado. This small hospital had a 
big motor dispensary route. With the help of one nurse, 
an ambulance and chauffeuse. Dr. Fraser cared for the sick 
in forty-eight villages, taking medical cases to her own 
hospital and sending the surgical cases to Luzancy for 
operation. Here Is a characteristic message: “Tell Dr. 
Fairbanks that I have a grand Pandora Box for her, with 
appendices, gall bladders, hernias, tumors and a million, 
more or less, tonsils and adenoids needing operations In 
my villages.” 

Dr. Charlotte Fairbanks of St. Johnsbury, Vermont, was 
our chief surgeon and In a larger sense, the entire district, 
surgically considered, was one grand Pandora Box for her. 
She was operating from morning until night on all kinds 
of chronic surgical cases, which had accumulated during 
the four years when It was impossible for a poor civilian 
to have the care of a surgeon in that part of France. The 
grand Pandora Box contained 852 surgical cases, and the 
low death rate was due partly to the skill of the operator 
and partly to the devotion and efficiency of her assistant 
physicians and nurses. 

At Luzancy, Dr. Fairbanks was the wonder of the world. 
The villagers had inherited a feeling of a personal relation- 
ship with whomsoever occupied their Chateau, and after 
the manner of relations, they loved, hated, or tolerated the 


occupants. Such persons had always been subject to criti- 
cism, favorable or unfavorable, and the record of our chief 
surgeon was a record to boast about. They could not have 
been more proud of a native daughter if her ancestry had 
antedated the advent of Attila the Hun in that territory. 

Luzancy was situated on the border of the bad lands. 
The destruction of house and home had not been so great 
as it had been in the Aisne and elsewhere. Therefore, it 
was easier for the returning residents of Luzancy to pick 
up the thread of community life, where it had been so 
suddenly broken four years before, than it was for those 
who belonged farther north. As the French Army demobi- 
lized, large numbers of men returned to their homes and 
villages. Among these were several physicians, who for- 
merly practiced in this district. They were beginning anew 
with scant equipment, and it was important for them to 
build into the returning life of the community. Week 
after week, as conditions improved, the necessity for our 
work in that section decreased, but from the districts where 
the destruction had been greater, and the return to normal 
correspondingly retarded, we were receiving urgent requests 
to establish hospitals and dispensary centers. 

The American Committee for Devastated France, with 
which we had worked in cordial cooperation from the 
beginning, was engaged in reconstruction work in the 
Department of the Aisne, and we had undertaken the med- 
ical end of this service. From Neufmoutiers we had moved 
to Luzancy, where the need for our work had been more 
urgent the year before, and in answer to this call from 
the Aisne in February, 1919, preparations were made for 
the removal of Hospital No. i to Blerancourt. 

It was not so easy to get away from Luzancy, and in 
order to settle the matter definitely an official announce- 
ment w’as issued to the effect that no patients would be 
received after the end of March. A special “Thanksgiving 
Day” to be observed in honor of the American Women’s 


Hospitals was appointed, and at the request of the mayor 
a report of our work, giving the names of American per- 
sonnel, was prepared for the town records. Early in March 
the following invitation was received by every member of 
our staff, from the mayor of Luzancy: 

In the name of the people of these communes which you 
have attended with so much benefit and kindness, and in the 
name of the Municipal Council at Luzancy, I ask you to meet 
at two o’clock precisely, Sunday, March 30th, to be present at 
a meeting of our Municipal Council, at which a testimony will 
be made for you, showing our gratitude and sincere thank- 

There are great days in the lives of all human beings and 
communities. People who have never been dazzled by the 
bright lights of big cities, and little towns off the line of 
travel have thrilling experiences — the more thrilling, per- 
haps, because of an unjaded capacity for pleasurable thrills. 
March 30, 1919, was a great day for the members of the 
staff of Hospital No. i, and the friends and patients they 
had known so intimately during a period of tribulation. 
The meeting was attended by the deputy of the Depart- 
ment, the prefet, consul general, the mayors of villages and 
representatives of adjacent communes where we had 
worked, and practically the entire population within walk- 
ing distance. The town hall was not big enough for the 
demonstration, so the court of the hospital and one big 
ward were requisitioned. 

The mayors of cities, great and small, have a lot of 
speeches to make, and many of them say the wrong things, 
but the mayor of Luzancy had established a reputation with 
our unit for saying the right thing. He usually said, “yes.” 
His parting speech was longer and somewhat more flat- 

Our gratitude and our expression of admiration come quite 
alike to all [he remarked in closing], to Dr. Hurrell, who has 
charge of the hospital ; to the other doctors, who have given 



their services with so much grace; to the surgeon, Dr. Fairbanks, 
who has worked w’ith a sureness of hand extraordinary; to the 
gestionaire, Mrs. Emilie Lehman, who has carried a burden 
almost insurmountable ; to the nurses, who have devoted them- 
selves to the population, and to the chauffeuses, whose robust- 
ness surpasses the imagination. 

Citizenship In the town of Luzancy was officially con- 
ferred upon the entire staff of the American Women’s Hos- 
pital No. I and upon Miss Anne Morgan and Mrs. A. M. 
Dike of the American Committee for Devastated France. 

As w’e walked out of the town hall there were cameras and 
moving-picture machines, much hampered by the weather, try- 
ing to get our photographs [wrote one of the participants! . 
This seemed strange. We looked and felt just the same as 
we did when we walked into the town hall, but a ceremony had 
been performed which increased our news value. We had been 
officially adopted by a French municipality. We had two home 
towns, one in the United States and one in France. 

As citizens of Luzancy we were greeted with great joy. We 
were congratulated and kissed, like brides, and for lack of 
flowers sprigs of evergreen, far more enduring, were thrust 
upon us by our French townsmen. All the officials participat- 
ing in the ceremonies returned with us to the chateau, and there, 
in the big ward which had been prepared for the reception, 
spread out before our astonished eyes, were the gifts of the 
people of Luzancy. It seemed almost as though we had mar- 
ried that town, and these were the wedding presents. Of course 
we w'ere thrilled, but from the standpoint of municipal rela- 
tions we had a bigamous feeling. 

The sous prefet, M. Duburcq, gave an eloquent address, 
after which the deputy, M. Lugel, announced that he had 
received the following telegram from the Secretaire d’fitas 
du Service de Sante: 

The eighteen decorations, Medailles de la Reconnaissance 
Franqalse, requested by M. Chalamon, Mayor of Luzancy, for 
the American ladles have been accorded. 

This news was received with enthusiastic acclamation by 
the entire assembly. M. Lugel tendered his congratulations 


to the unit in French, which Dr. Hurrell acknowledged in 
English; the school children sang the Marseillaise, and the 
American Women’s Hospital No. i had taken official leave 
of Luzancy, although it was several weeks before all of 
our equipment had been transferred to Blerancourt. 






T he move to Blerancourt was an aggravating job. The 
French government had barracks to give away, and 
some of these barracks were given to the American Com- 
mittee for Devastated France for the use of the American 
Women’s Hospitals. These buildings were to be delivered, 
erected, and ready for occupation by the first of April — an 
inauspicious day. Our large hospital equipment was moved 
from Luzancy during the month of April, and the period 
of waiting began. 

The American Committee had an enormous reconstruc- 
tion program in the Cantons of Soissons, Coucy-le-Chateau 
and VIc-sur-Aisne, and we were to carry the medical relief 
in this connection. A great many people were sick and in 
need of hospital care. Infectious diseases of children were 
prevalent, and an epidemic of scarlet fever had spread 
through the district. Under these circumstances, it was 
impossible to wait for barracks. Fortunately, one building 
had been erected. With this for a center and an operating 
room, the rest of the hospital was installed in army tents 
and the work started. 

The usual accumulation of surgical cases was waiting 
for Dr. Fairbanks, and she operated day after day from 
dawn until dark. With the help of German prisoners, 




the second barracks was soon finished. This was used for 
scarlet fever cases. It is amazing how well we are able 
to get along without the conveniences of modern life when 
we have to. In almost no time our little hospital of fifty 
beds was running at full capacity, in spite of difficulties, 
which included carrying water from the village fountain. 

Within a few months the barracks compound was com- 
pleted, and a very good hospital it made. Carrying water 
both ways for weeks emphasized the importance of plumb- 
ing, and we installed a good water and drainage system at 
considerable cost, which was far less than it was worth. 

Great credit Is due to the six chauffeuses of Hospital 
No. I whose “robustness,” according to the written state- 
ment of the mayor of Luzancy, surpassed the imagination. 
As a matter af fact, they were lithe, strong, and withal, fair 
to look upon. The appearance of our chauffeuses was a 
valuable asset for the reason that men are men the world 
around, and all the gasoline In France was controlled by 
poor, easy man. Surely It was wise to have chauffeuses 
who found favor in his eyes. Doctors and nurses might 
be ever so skillful and devoted, but in a country without 
transportation our capacity for service depended largely 
upon cars, ambulances, drivers, and a supply of gasoline. 

The chauffeuses were the youngest group in the unit, and 
manifestly ladies of the new school. They were not sitting 
in balconies, gazing at the sympathetic stars and longing 
for the hero to return. No, Indeed, they were following 
him in a motor car. Bright-eyed, red-cheeked and beautiful, 
albeit a bit ruffled and mud-bedaubed, one of these ladies 
emerged from under her car, but not from under the eye 
of her chief, on a memorable occasion. Why did she 
emerge? Her work was not finished. Lying on her back 
in the mud under the car, looking for “trouble,” she spied 
it in the sky, and out she came just in time to catch a glove 
that fell from a passing plane. A sky pilot’s glove ! Poor 
Romeo and Juliet! They lived too soon. Supplied with 



motor cars and airplanes, tlieir immortal story might have 
taken a less tragic turn. 

Our hospital at Blerancourt was full at the time of the 
accidental explosion of munitions at St. Aubin. Naturally 
the people in the district thought the Germans were coming 
again, and without waiting for official notification started 
toward the south. This territory had been evacuated twice 
during the war, and those who had lingered before were 
the first to start on this occasion when the big shells began 
to explode. Disregarding the assurance that the uproar 
was due to accidental explosions, the sick jumped from their 
beds, several collapsing, while others ran about looking for 
their clothes, to the confusion of the entire compound. 
Children were crying for their parents, mothers were wildly 
seeking their children, old folks were running about help- 
lessly, and one poor grandmother, carried in a chair, was 
left on our doorstep. Fortunately we had plenty of food, 
and our guests were used to sleeping wherever night over- 
took them, but nobody slept that night. Hour after hour 
the explosions continued, and after the evacuees stopped 
worrying about themselves they commenced worrying about 
the precious rabbits, chickens and geese, with which their 
little farms had recently been restocked by the American 

The association of the American Women’s Hospitals with 
different college relief units was highly satisfactory. This 
plan saved expense and facilitated work in the field. Dr. 
Louise Tayler-Jones of Washington negotiated an affilia- 
tion between the American Women’s Hospitals and the 
Wellesley College Relief Unit, and both she and Dr. Mary 
W. Marvell of Fall River, Massachusetts, wore our uni- 
forms and cooperated with our workers. We were always 
ready and anxious to receive patients from any of the college 
groups. The following paragraph is taken from a letter 
written by Dr. Anna M. Gove, who was serving with the 
Smith College Relief Unit at Grecourt, Somme: 



Dear Dr. Hurrell: 

It seems like taking an unfair advantage to arrive almost 
unheralded with six children for your surgical department, but 
your staff made me realize that the A. W. H. is here for service, 
and my pride in its spirit of gracious giving does away with any 
misgivings I may have had in regard to our little patients. 

The medical work in the Blerancourt district was con- 
ducted by our organization until the spring of 1920. The 
central hospital was always full, but the outlying work grad- 
ually decreased with the resumption of community life and 
the return of local physicians. During the summer and 
autumn of 1919, Dr. Hurrell and twenty-two of her asso- 
ciates in service returned to the United States. Dr. Hazel 
D. Bonness succeeded Dr. Hurrell as directress, with a staff 
of five Americans and a corps of French assistants. 

For almost two years the American Committee for Dev- 
astated France and the American Women’s Hospitals 
worked together in the field, and the closing chapter of 
this story of cooperative service is touched upon in the fol- 
lowing letter received from Miss Anne Morgan of the 
American Committee: 

In conference with the mayor of Blerancourt just before 
leaving France, he asked me to convey to you the profound 
gratitude of himself and of the Municipal Council for the aid 
and assistance given to the inhabitants of that region during the 
very trying period after the return of the people to that destroyed 

If agreeable to you and your Board, they would like to place 
a memorial tablet to the American Women’s Hospitals in the 
town hall, which may possibly be reconstructed within the next 
year. The town hall has not been entirely destroyed, and still 
retains a vestige of its former beauty. The fagade is extremely 
interesting and the Building Cooperative Society, of which the 
mayor is chairman, has decided to reconstruct it as it was before 
the war. There could be no better site in Blerancourt for the 
proposed memorial tablet. 

Surely no two organizations ever worked for a given time, 
and came out of the period with such definite respect and admi- 
ration for each other as ours. 



The sentiments expressed by Miss Morgan were shared 
by every member of our Executive Board and our personnel 
in the field. On withdrawing from the Alsne in the spring 
of 1920, we left a fully equipped hospital, which was after- 
ward conducted with a French staff by the American Com- 
mittee for Devastated France. 

While we were conducting a hospital service In the dev- 
astated region, we were also participating in medical relief 
measures in other parts of France. In the old city of Blols, 
whose castles still echo the family quarrels of kings, their 
Irregular love affairs and royal murders, we entered into a 
tripartite agreement for the development of a hospital 
center with separate buildings for the care of tubercular, 
maternity, and children’s cases. The original plans, which 
were arranged by Dr. Bertha Stewart Dyment of Eugene, 
Oregon, were abandoned on account of the withdrawal of 
one of the parties to this pact, but our part of the plan, 
in a modified form, was carried out after the war. 

From the standpoint of permanent value, our most 
important service in France was in connection with the 
Residence Sociale at Levallois-Perret, a factory town on the 
outskirts of Paris. This place is a beehive of industry. 
The inhabitants do more than their share of the world’s 
work. Kings and Emperors living above the law have 
never castled in Levallols, but no stronghold, when knight- 
hood was in flower, was ever more Important to a nation 
than this town was to France during the war. The fac- 
tories for the manufacture of perfumes and plowshares 
were turned into munition mills overnight, and in the first 
Battle of the Marne the Paris taxicabs from the great 
garages at Levallols transported troops behind the lines, 
to the confusion of the enemy. 

My work with the American Red Cross in 1917 took me 
to different hospitals, creches, and homes for the unfortu- 
nate. For several months I lived at the Residence Sociale, 



Levallois-Perret. Gradually I came to realize that the 
group of Frenchwomen conducting that place were pos- 
sessed of a corporate soul devoted to the service in which 
they were engaged, and this was the reason they accom- 
plished so much with the small means available at the little 
house on Rue Antonin-Raynaud, where every inch of space 
did double duty. 

Fate had foreseen the trials of Mile. Marie Jeanne 
Bassot, the devoted leader of this dauntless band. Perhaps 
she was included in the promise: “To him that overcometh 
will I give to eat of the hidden manna.” Ten years of 
struggle had given them strength to work effectively during 
the war. They were not wasting time in useless motion. 
Their methods attracted attention and support. Help came 
from across the ocean. The American Red Cross and other 
organizations contributed to this center. The French- 
women who administered funds had a genius for keeping 
every franc circulating rapidly within the orbit of their 
own activities. 

Dr. Caroline Purnell, Commissioner of the American 
Women’s Hospitals, visited the Residence Sociale in 1918, 
and recommended that we contribute to the development 
of the medical end of this health and social center. Time 
has more than justified her judgment. 

During the fifteen years that the Residence Sociale was 
conducted in cramped quarters, the workers occasionally 
peeped over the back fence into the spacious grounds their 
landlord, all unknowingly, was preparing for them. He 
had selected this double block of property in his youth, at 
least fifty years before, and had built and planted for the 
generations. With loving forethought he tended the trees 
in his private park, and when their spreading branches 
shaded the marble figures of music, poetry, literature and 
art embellishing the cornice of the house in which his fond- 
est fancies were embodied, he slowly climbed the winding 



stairs from the fourth story to the cupola and looked with 
pride over the beautiful home he had built for his children 
and his children’s children. 

Meanwhile, the factories rose on every hand, but the 
walls of his park and his soul were high, and he did not 
notice the change. Some of his children died; the war 
came, and his last grandson was killed. Gradually the life 
of the old man ebbed away. His estate descended to dis- 
tant relatives and the lovely place was bought for a song 
by friends of the Residence Sociale. With the help of the 
National American Woman’s Suffrage Association we pro- 
vided buildings for health work and headquarters for the 
Visiting Nurses of France at this important center. 

At the official dedication of these buildings. Dr. Ange- 
nette Parry represented the American Women’s Hospitals; 
Dr. Louis Guinon, a distinguished French specialist, the 
medical staff, and Mile. Marie Jeanne Bassot the Residence 
Sociale. Count de Piessac spoke for the French govern- 
ment as follows : 

Ladies and Gentlemen: 

I am here to represent M. Brisac, head of the National Office 
of Social Hygiene; M. Durafour, Minister of Labour and of 
Health, who, like his predecessor, M. Justin Godard, takes the 
keenest interest in the Residence Sociale. Finally I have the 
great honor to represent the Minister for Foreign Affairs, and 
the President of the Cabinet, who desire me to offer in their 
name a welcome to Dr. Parry, the delegate of the American 
Women’s Hospitals. 

The Foreign Office and the War Office recognize the mag- 
nificent work that the American Women’s Hospitals did for 
France during the war and which has been continued up to the 
present time. 

As an expression of appreciation of the work done by 
the American Women’s Hospitals in France, the members 
of our Executive Board were decorated on this occasion. 
“The medal of the ‘Reconnaissance Fran^aise’ tells clearly 



what feelings have guided us in awarding it to you,” said 
the French representative. “It is the gratitude of the gov- 
ernment of the French Republic, the gratitude of the whole 
of France which I ask you to accept.” 




T he beginning of the American Women’s Hospitals in 
the Balkans was after the Turk, but not so long after. 
Five years, to be exact. In the Macedonian country to which 
we were assigned. Our first work was for Serbian refugees 
in Greece during the war, and at the present time (1927) 
we have hospitals and dispensaries in Thrace, Eastern and 
Western Macedonia, and other parts of Greece for the care 
of Christian refugees from Asia Minor. 

The Red Cross Commission to Serbia sailed on the 
Chicago, and my traveling companion. Dr. Alice B. Brown, 
took care of some of the members who were sick. Women 
physicians have no better friends in the world than the men 
who have been their patients, and the chances are that the 
Serbian Commissioners were prepossessed in our favor 
before they left the ship, and when they reached Serbia 
they found the story of the Scottish Women’s Hospitals 
written in service all over that unfortunate country. Mr. 
C. A. Severance, the head of this Commission, soon after 
reaching the Balkans in 1917, cabled for women physicians. 
Dr. Regina Flood Keyes of Buffalo, and her cousin. Dr. 
Frances M. Flood of Elmira, N. Y., were selected and 
equipped by our committee to answer this call. Funds 
were appropriated to cover part of the cost of a hospital 
service conducted at Vodena, Greece, near the Serbian bor- 



der, in cooperation with the American Red Cross. From 
the beginning there was difficulty in securing supplies, as 
the following cable indicates: 

Amcross, Paris. 

American Women’s Hospitals of Amcross (American Red 
Cross), Vodena, Greece, Regina Keyes, Director, states unable 
to secure necessary supplies. We have fund received from 
American Women’s Hospitals of $25,000 available for this 
hospital. . . . Kindly investigate and draw on us for this fund 
if necessary, charging expenditures against R. S. 2. 

(signed) Davison. 

It was comparatively easy to work in France, where sup- 
plies could be secured, but in the Balkans no plan which 
involved transportation worked out according to schedule, 
and if supplies were not forthcoming it was necessary to 
Improvise substitutes. Submarine activities in the Mediter- 
ranean prevented the delivery of equipment for the Vodena 
Hospital. Fortunately, Dr. Keyes was well supplied with 
instruments, and with the aid of carpenters, tinners, and 
whitewashers the hospital, which had been opened some 
time before in a Turkish schoolhouse, was renovated and 
put in working order. 

Dispensaries were opened in connection with this hospital 
and Dr. Keyes, Dr. Flood, and their two American nurses, 
with a staff of native assistants, were kept busy from dawn 
until dark during the year 1918. About three thousand 
treatments monthly were given in these dispensaries, and 
the hospital was a haven of refuge for the desperately ill. 
The Balkans had never been well supplied with physicians, 
and many of those who had practiced In that country lost 
their lives during the Balkan and World Wars. For these 
reasons there was a large number of neglected surgical 
diseases, and great was the joy among those with bonifide 
operative disorders, because, with only fifty hospital beds, 
the preference was given to such cases. “There is some 



soul of goodness in things evil,” and a hernia, cured by an 
operation, which incidentally provided a patient with food 
and a bed for three weeks, or a month, was not altogether 
bad in a country where food and beds were daily problems 
of vital Importance. 

This was the only hospital in Vodena at that time where 
major operations were performed. There was a large 
variety of cases, and of nationalities — Albanians, Dalma- 
tians, Greeks, Macedonians, Roumanians, Serbians and 
Turks. One Serbian pope of the Orthodox Church, with 
appendicitis, braved death for days before he would con- 
sent to be operated upon by a woman. Finally, when he 
was about finished, he committed his soul to his Maker, his 
body to the hospital, did his hair in a tight pug, paid proper 
respects to his beard, and in spite of these time-honored 
preparations for death recovered miraculously. 

Ah! Here was food for meditation. If it pleased God 
to perform a miracle, the more unlikely the instrument, 
the greater the miracle. From time to time in the history 
of mankind these wonders were vouchsafed. After his 
miraculous recovery, the pope was strong for women sur- 
geons. There was something supernatural about them. 

On invitation of Col. Jourdan, medical officer of the 
Seventeenth Colonial Division, French Troops, Dr. Keyes, 
with all the supplies she could muster, served In the medical 
corps on the Salonica front during the offensive of the Allied 
forces in September, 1918. She worked in a hospital near 
Dogai Pojar. The heat was intense, and swarming blow- 
flies added to the suffering of soldiers waiting for surgical 
attention. Among the wounded were Germans and Bul- 
garians, as well as French and Serbians, all of whom were 
amazed to meet an American woman surgeon in the field. 

When the Serbian refugees returned to their country after 
the armistice, the Vodena Hospital was transferred to 
Monastir, Serbia, where large numbers of war prisoners, 
returning from Bulgaria, were suffering from typhus fever. 



An anti-insect campaign was conducted In this hospital with 
the result that Insect-borne diseases were reduced to a mini- 
mum and the place became widely known as the Flyless 
Hospital of the Balkans. 

While the typhus epidemic of 19 14-15 was raging In the 
Balkans, the Scottish Women’s Hospitals, under Dr. Elsie 
Inglls, sent units to different parts of Serbia to establish a 
medical service. Hospitals staffed entirely by women, pro- 
viding for military and civil work, were opened at Vlada- 
novatz and at other places. 

During the final invasion by the military forces of the 
Central Powers, which precipitated the retreat of the Ser- 
bian Army, Dr. Inglls and her unit remained at Kragu- 
jevatz as prisoners of war, caring for the wounded, while 
the unit under Dr. MacGregor at Vladanovatz went over 
the top of the snow-covered Albanian range with king, 
government, army and part of the civil population. 

For some reason not well understood by other nationals, 
Serbia celebrates her great retreats. Perhaps she has been 
obliged to retreat so often that she has developed a deli- 
cate appreciation of the feelings of the defeated and an 
understanding of the reactions produced by the celebration 
of military victories with blaring of trumpets, mocking and 
Inciting the vanquished to further tests of strength. 

Great national heroes are never permitted to sheathe their 
swords. Poor men ! If they live in a spirit world of under- 
standing with their earthly enemies, how tired they must 
be of the bronze misrepresentations of themselves standing 
forever on noisy corners in strained, unnatural attitudes 
with swords In their hands. The bloodiest battles are glori- 
fied in song, story and telephone exchanges. Millions of 
people In France are still yelling, Austerlltz 463, Jena 784, 
Wagram 572, and over the border In Germany millions 
are incessantly shouting in answer 9-0-9 Sedan! Nein! 
Nein! Nein! Waterloo! 

During the war there were two sides to the world- 


embracing question: the right side, and the wrong side, 
friend or foe. But after the war the sides subdivided into 
as many angles as there were national, religious, commer- 
cial or political interests, all of these angles finding advo- 
cates among Americans sojourning in foreign lands. In 
addition to the American women physicians serving in our 
own hospitals, a large number were certified for service 
with other organizations in the Balkans, Russia, Poland and 
elsewhere. These level-headed women left the United 
States as impartial as jurymen just impaneled, but within 
a few months most of them developed sympathies with the 
peoples among whom they were working, and in order to 
maintain an even balance it was necessary for them to move 
occasionally across the border to a neighboring state with 
an opposite point of view. 

The tragic monotony of the medical reports received 
from these women was varied by humorous incidents of 
daily occurrence. Dr. Dora E. Bowman of Kansas City 
was sent to Montenegro, where she served as a circuit- 
riding surgeon. “I make the rounds between three hos- 
pitals regularly,” she wrote, “and I have done over three 
hundred operations. Including almost everything in general 
and special surgery. 

“We find work at all times and places. On the train 
a few days ago, just after we had made coffee on our sterno 
stove and eaten our dinner of black bread and sardines, a 
woman in labor was found in the corridor of the car. It 
took only a few minutes to get her into our compartment, 
and at seven-thirty we had a fine baby boy for our trouble. 
Of course there were no baby clothes, but we did the best 
we could under the circumstances. We wrapped the Infant 
in swaddling clothes and named him ‘Theodore Roose- 
velt.’ ” 

In the early part of 1919 the American Women’s Hos- 
pitals equipped and provided the salaries of four women 
physicians and a dentist, who were assigned for service with 

Physicians and nurses in the service of the American Women’s Hospitals 
have received fifty-four decorations from foreign governments. Some of 
the badges of these orders are shown above, i — Badge of the Legion of 
Honor (France). 2 — Gold Cross of the Order of the Holy Sepulcher 
(Orthodox Jerusalem). 3 — Order of the White Eagle (Serbia). 4 — • 

Medaille de la Reconnaissance Francaise. 5 — War Cross of Greece. 6 — 
Gold Cross of Saint George. 7 — Grand Commander Order of the Redeemer 
(Greecel. 8 — Order of Saint Sava (Serbia). 


the Serbian Child Welfare Association. Mr. William F. 
Doherty, Commissioner of the Association, made the fol- 
lowing statement regarding their work on his return to the 
United States from Serbia in 1920: 

When I went to Serbia to organize the work I found con- 
fronting me at Chachak, the section selected for our public 
health and child welfare demonstration, a very serious condition 
of affairs. The Serbian government had turned over to us a 
large building capable of housing some four or five hundred 
children, but the building was in a frightful shape — absolutely 
devoid of furniture and equipment. In fact there was nothing 
in it but dirt and filth, and yet we had to get things into shape 
quickly, for there was a crying need in the neighborhood for 
the care of thousands of orphan and sick children. 

Immediately I sent orders to the South to Major Cressy to 
send me at once to Chachak doctors and nurses who could be 
counted upon to do things — and do them quickly. Major Cressy 
sent me Dr. Ridout, Dr. Caven and Miss Gregory, a nurse. 
I want to say now that he could not have made a better 

Short of an executive for our children’s institute and urgently 
in need of a person who could clean up things and get the 
building quickly in shape, I put the proposition up to Dr. Ridout, 
and in spite of the fact that she was a physician and not a 
foreman of laborers she made good on the job. I have seen 
this woman at the head of a gang of Bulgarian war prisoners, 
scrubbing the floors and helping rid the building of filth, which 
was found in nearly every room, and after the day’s work was 
over I have seen Dr. Ridout spending the night ministering to 
the sick children we had in care. Dr, Ridout is still on the 
job as executive in charge of our institution, and in addition she 
is the medical officer for two hundred children now inmates 
of the institution. And all this work she does cheerfully and 

Dr. Caven was a “find,” if ever I have seen one. She is a 
tireless worker, full of imagination and immensely Interested 
in anything she tackles. When I organized our clearing bureau 
for children, to which we intended sending all of our newly 
received children for quarantine, observation, medical examina- 
tion and treatment, I put Dr. Caven in charge of the work. 
Dr. Caven, in addition to being medical officer of the Clearing 



Station, likewise was its organizer and its first housemother. 
She herself superintended the cleaning of the floors and the 
setting up and making of the beds, and the bathing and cleaning 
of the children. Later, when we had opened the first health 
center at Chachak and found ourselves short of a physician. 
Dr. Caven generously agreed to divide her work so that she 
could spend the morning at the health center and the afternoon 
and evening at the Clearing Station. She it was who organized 
our infant welfare w'ork. She it was who personally volunteered 
to make emergency calls to poor children and women in Chachak 
and the surrounding hamlets. She has made a success of the 
clinics, the dispensaries, and the infant welfare station. In addi- 
tion she has helped us organize classes for instruction of Serbian 
women in elementary hygiene and home nursing, and she has 
organized the women of Chachak into an auxiliary Public Health 

Dr. Bercea, the dentist sent from your Association, is doing 
an extremely fine piece of work at our Skoplje Health Center. 
Her services are in great demand for the reason that Serbia 
has few dentists, and in addition to her regular duties at our 
Health Center, Dr. Bercea goes out two afternoons each week 
to treat the sick soldiers at the military hospital. Dr. Bercea 
has had to work overtime, as is readily understood from the fact 
that during the first twelve days of her activities she examined 
and treated nearly five hundred patients. 

Down at Skoplje Dr. Kleinman is doing a mighty fine piece 
of work. She has a hard job, but she works uncomplainingly. 

Just before I left Belgrade to return to America I had the 
pleasure of meeting Dr. Gray of your Association, and I told 
her of the splendid work the women physicians of your Associa- 
tion were doing for us. What I said to Dr. Gray I now repeat 
to you. I scarcely know what I would have done had I not had 
the loyal support and cooperation of the women physicians and 
nurses supplied by the American Women’s Hospitals. 

The reward of work Is always more work, and we were 
requested to establish an Independent medical service In 
Serbia. Dr. Etta Gray, of Los Angeles, President of the 
Medical Women’s National Association, was sent to the 
Balkans as organizer and director of our work In that coun- 
try. She was young, strong, a well-trained physician and 



surgeon, with a gift of the uncommon quality known as 
common sense. Of western pioneer stock, she probably 
inherited a capacity for pioneering, and there must have 
been a Mistress of the Robes in her background somewhere 
to account for her keen appreciation of good clothes. The 
women on her staff were capable and they looked capable 
from cap to shoes. This was important in the Balkans, 
where the outstanding woman of this generation is the 
good-looking, well-dressed Queen of Roumania. 

Dr. Gray made a careful survey of the country. The 
neediest seeming section was finally found in Macedonian 
Serbia, and the announcement of her intention to establish 
a medical service in the district, with a central hospital and 
headquarters at Veles, was received with pathetic expres- 
sions of gratitude and a very polite lack of confidence. 
Representatives of other organizations had surveyed that 
field, but had gone away and never returned. 

The buildings for headquarters and a central hospital, 
granted by the local government, registered seven years’ 
warfare. They were without windows, doors and wood- 
work, but the damage was not all due to explosives. 
Troops and refugees passing to and fro after military vic- 
tories, or defeats, destroy all movable property. The doors 
and other woodwork of houses are used to keep their camp 
fires burning. This accounts for the thousands of skeletons 
of houses in the Balkans and near eastern countries. 

When the matter of location was definitely decided. Dr. 
Gray went to Belgrade to complete arrangements. The 
government agreed to transport our hospital supplies and 
personnel, without charge, wherever trains were running. 
To expedite our work, different organizations with equip- 
ment at Belgrade, Salonica and other places made contribu- 
tions. The American Red Cross gave large quantities of 
hospital supplies, the American Relief Administration gave 
food and clothing, the Czecho-Slavic Mission divided its 
war loot with us, and a generous share of the “booty” 


taken from the enemy was allotted to our hospitals by the 

With several carloads of such material, Dr. Gray 
returned to Veles about the middle of November, 1919, 
and with the help of Dr. Laura Myers and Miss Freda 
Frost our central hospital and headquarters for Serbia were 
opened at that town, in the heart of a desert of destitution 
and utter wretchedness. This place was rarely visited by 
travelers. Practically the only contacts for almost three 
years were contacts with the sick and hungry, and the vari- 
ety of life was made up largely of variety in diseases, some 
of which were experienced personally by the head of our 
service and her assistants in that district. 

Fleadquarters might have been opened In the nearest 
large city, or in the capital of the country, but Dr. Gray had 
a fine sense of the fitness of things, and from her standpoint 
it was not fit that the head of a hospital service should live 
in safety and comfort while her staff lived in danger and 
dlscom-fort. Besides, the object of the American Women’s 
Hospitals was to care for the sick among those in greatest 
need. Incidentally to carry on a health educational service, 
and to do as much as possible with the funds contributed 
for the purpose. Headquarters at Belgrade would have 
been advantageous in some respects, but the cost would 
have reduced our work in the field. 

Getting our headquarters and personnel house in order 
at Veles was no small job. The court was cleared of debris 
and cleaned to its bedrock of cobblestones. The building 
was scrubbed, fumigated and whitewashed, a water supply 
provided, and shower baths improvised by the ingenious use 
of Standard Oil cans. Iron beds were set up, prim as Pris- 
cilla, their four little feet resting in milk cans with an inch 
of Creso solution. 

Weeks before the hospital was opened, the sick began to 
apply for admission. A temporary clinic and dressing sta- 
tion was arranged to care for those suffering from painful 


minor ailments. The following is quoted from a report 
received from Dr. Gray, dated December 13, 1919: 

Before we were moved into our house, the patients bt^an 
to come and now they are coming in increasing numbers. . . . 
Such pitiful sights! — people -with neglected sores and wounds 
who have had no treatment whatever for weeks. Terrible 
infections of all sorts and appalling eye diseases. It is terrible 
to look into the upturned faces of human beings who are sight- 
less from neglect and to know that proper care at the right 
time would have saved them. 

To-day a little boy came trudging in to ask if we could help 
his brother. We told him to bring his brother in and we would 
see. An hour later the little fellow came in leading his brother 
by the hand. He was totally blind. The pity of it is that so 
many of these cases could have been helped. But now it is too 

There are a large number of tubercular cases, and many under- 
nourished children ready to develop the disease. We tell their 
parents to feed them, but they haven’t the food. We shall put 
in a feeding station for these sick children and we shall soon 
have a large number of day boarders. 

A great many surgical cases were seen at the clinic every 
day, but nothing could be done to help these people until 
the hospital was ready to receive them. The repair work 
was undertaken by three young Serbians who had lived in 
the United States and who were all anxious to demonstrate 
the “American Move” to their countrymen. Their per- 
formance was the talk of the town, and the building was 
ready in short order. The “shower” of equipment made it 
possible to open the first hospital at Veles without waiting 
for supplies shipped from France. There was a shortage 
of many necessities, including bedsteads, but after all bed- 
steads are not necessities. The few that had been donated 
were used for surgical cases, and the other patients felt quite 
luxurious with their straw-filled ticks on the floor. 



Showers of blessings continued, month after month. One 
English lumberman with a big business In the Balkans 
donated large quantities of lumber and personally attended 
to its delivery. The Serbians were not to be outdone in 
generosity even if they were poor. The spoils of war were 
in their hands. In addition to the “booty” from Belgrade, 
the local military bureau contributed Its quota of materials 
“made in Germany,” and brought into Macedonia by Mack- 
ensen. Our nurses w'ere peace-loving women, but they were 
glad the enemy lost his surgical dressings, and somehow a 
booty bandage had a thrill in It which made It roll easier 
than an honest strip of gauze. 

After shipping equipment from France, Dr. Hazel D. 
Bonness and Dr. Ellen C. Cover, with nurses who had 
served with the French unit, went direct to Veles. They 
were amazed at the amount of work already accomplished 
In spite of seemingly insurmountable obstacles. A letter 
written by Dr. Bonness soon after her arrival contained the 
following paragraph: 

The house we are in is as comfortable as it is possible to 
make any house in Veles, and we are well fed and cared for. 
I am surprised and delighted with what Dr. Gray has been able 
to accomplish here in the face of so many hardships and diffi- 
culties. She has simply done wonders and I am frank to say 
that I know of no person who could have accomplished half so 
much under the same conditions. 

At last our ship arrived, the freighter Roye, with fifty 
tliousand dollars’ worth of equipment, and Miss Gertrude 
Lambert, who was sent to Salonica to arrange for trans- 
portation, stood on the quay overlooking the harbor while 
this ship and her precious cargo went up In smoke. Miss 
Lambert had bad luck that trip. She should have worn a 
blue bead. Somebody must have given her the evil eye, for 
she came back to Veles empty-handed, with a high fever 
from diphtheria she had picked up en route, and raved for 
days about the burning of the Roye. 


This disaster was heartbreaking, for our hospital was full 
all the time, and so many people were waiting for admis- 
sion that a large building situated on the hill overlooking 
the town was being repaired to be used for children exclu- 
sively. Again the Serbian government came to our help 
and gave us three hundred bedsteads. This gift, with 
assistance from other quarters, made It possible to carry 
on until the loss sustained by the burning of the Roye was 
made good. 




S KOPLJE, the old capital of the Serbian czars, where the 
famous code of Dushan the Mighty was presented to 
the Serbian Assembly in 1349, was the center of the “oblast” 
in which five of our hospitals and several clinics were con- 
ducted. The fame of Dushan the Mighty and his code is 
limited, for the most part, to those of Serbian ancestry. It 
has been transmitted from generation to generation by 
means of song and story, without the help of a written 
language. Pvluch water and much blood had flowed down 
the Vardar since the Serbian Assembly met in 1349. For 
five hundred years Skoplje had worn a Turkish veil and 
her name had been called Uskub, but under her veil beat 
the heart of a Slav, and under her breath she chanted the 
glory of Dushan the Mighty and Marko the Martyr. Five 
centuries had not Turkified Skoplje, and after the Balkan 
Wars she threw open her lattice, pushed back her veil, dis- 
carded her tcharchaff and emerged a Slavian city. 

The glory that was Greece still lives in literature and 
art; the glory which departed from Israel survives in reli- 
gion and financial genius; but the glory which departed 
from Macedonia left no trace of its former existence in 
the different districts where we have conducted hospitals 
from 1917 to the present date. 

During the dark age of Turkish occupation, Veles was 




called Koprili, but the name didn’t take, and when a name 
doesn’t take in five hundred years it ought to be changed. 
For seven years, beginning with 1912, this town and the 
surrounding country had been the theatre of the military 
activities of three wars, and at the time our personnel 
arrived on the scene the town might more appropriately 
have been called Ichabod. 

The first and second Balkan Wars were closely followed 
by the World War, and for this section of the earth’s sur- 
face it was a World War in all the horror of actual experi- 
ence. During the years of these three wars, soldiers from 
far and near, friend and foe, occupied this territory in turn. 
In alphabetical order there were Albanians, Americans, 
Australians, Austrians, British, Bulgarians, Cretans, Croa- 
tians, Dalmatians, French, Germans, Greeks, Senegalese, 
Turks, and Satan only knows how many others. 

Wherever soldiers occupy a country they leave their 
blood not only on the battlefields but in the veins of the 
population for ultimate good or harm, according to its 
quality. In some of the Macedonian towns which were 
very completely occupied by the Central and other forces, 
the evidence of this occupation can be seen in ruined build- 
ings and in striking types of fair children here and there. 

Veles was named from the Slavic god of cattle, but there 
were few cattle left In the district when the armistice was 
signed. Cattle must have grass, and grass does not grow 
and herds are not bred during periods of invasion. The 
fauna and flora of disease, however, and all the forces of 
germ life which make for death and destruction flourish 
while these orgies of race suicide are at their height. 

During the World War there was probably no place on 
the face of the earth with a larger variety of death-dealing 
insects than the Valley of the Vardar. A soldier is not so 
dangerous in himself as In the vermin and microbes he 
harbors. Generation after generation, century after cen- 
tury, he has been the host of all the different varieties. 



transporting them from place to place. The armies of 
many of the conquering heroes, Including the Crusaders, 
from B.C. backward to the beginning, and A.D. forward 
to date, have camped on the banks of the Vardar and made 
their contributions. 

The climate Is Ideal for the development of Insect life, 
and for thousands of years conditions have been conducive 
to the Introduction of the hardier strains. Skoplje Is said 
to be the original home, the Garden of Eden, of the Family 
CImIcIdae. This looks like an Influential family on paper. 
Appearances on paper are sometimes misleading, but the 
Family CImIcdae is highly Influential. 

A few years ago the use of the word Ciniicidae might 
have been of doubtful expediency, and Cimex leclularius 
absolutely taboo except In scientific papers. But In this age 
of the crossword puzzle Cimicidae will promptly suggest 
Insects of turtle-form outline, flat during periods of hiber- 
nation, night raiders of noisome odor and — well, Skoplje 
Is said to be their original home. They are called Skoplje 
beetles. The largest and fiercest specimens inhabit the best 
hotels. I have traveled far, but have never seen any- 
thing that looked and acted just like the Skoplje beetle 
outside the Vardar Valley, except at Washington, where all 
nations meet. 

The Cimicidae Is a harmless family In the Balkans com- 
pared with the CiiUcidae and the Pedicididae. These are 
the bad ones. A rose by any other name may smell as 
sweet, but these vermin by their scientific names don’t sound 
half as bad as they actually are. The following Is quoted 
from the Encyclopedia Britannica: 

By Dec. 14, Serbian soil was for the third time entirely free 
from invaders, and an enormous booty was captured. But the 
enemy left deadly infection behind him, and by the early spring 
of 1915 exhausted Serbia was immobilized by a typhus epidemic 
which is estimated to have caused 300,000 deaths among the 
civil population. 



This is interesting information. Serbia had successfully 
resisted the Austro-Hungarian military forces, but was 
“immoblized” by an army of body lice. A practical person 
naturally wonders why the enemy did not have sense enough 
to save his men and booty by sending an army of typhus- 
loaded lice in the beginning. Night rains of these vermin 
would have been much cheaper, easier and more effective 
than bombs. The above implication regarding the enemy 
does him altogether too much credit. Poor blundering 
enemy! He would gladly have annihilated the country. 
But his head wasn’t working to its fullest capacity. He was 
depending altogether too much on his hands and feet. He 
was lucky if he left all the deadly infection behind him. The 
chances are he took some of it home with him to mock his 
later years and plague his children. 

The use of vermin and pestilence as a means of coercing 
an enemy has highly honorable precedent. Moses with 
divine sanction used this argument against Pharoah and 
lived to tell the tale. After a miraculous series of national 
calamities, including a plague of lice, and a plague of flies, 
Moses stood before Pharoah and as spokesman for the 
God of the Israelites delivered a terrible ultimatum Includ- 
ing the following: “For now I will stretch out my hand, 
that I may smite thee and thy people with pestilence and 
thou shalt be cut off from the earth.” 

Insects have had an enormous Influence in the history 
of the Balkans and other parts of the world. Flies, lice, 
fleas, gnats and mosquitoes are among the greatest enemies 
of mankind. They are allies of war and famine, retainers 
of pestilence, carrying typhoid, typhus, sand fly fever, tuber- 
culosis, malaria and many other forms of disease. 

Among the three most famous men connected with the 
history of the Balkans are Dushan the Mighty, Suleiman 
the Magnificent, and Alexander the Great. These were 
supermen lifted above the rank and file of humanity like 
the flowering century plant above the grass of the field. 



Such types are seldom seen upon the earth, but they are 
mortal and die like common men. Dushan the Mighty, 
Czar of the Serbians, had conquered most of the Balkans 
and was marching on Constantinople with his army when 
he was taken sick and died. Suleiman the Magnificent 
extended the glory and dominion of Turkey to its farthest 
point, and died while conducting a siege in Hungary. These 
great warriors were not killed in battle. They died of dis- 
ease, which was probably carried by insects. 

Alexander the Great, starting from Babylon to explore the world, inglori- 
ously nipped on the Tendo Achilles and cut off at the beginning of a 
promising career. 

About nineteen centuries before this time, Alexander the 
Great had conquered the known world, after which he built 
a thousand ships for the purpose of exploring the waterways 
around his empire. If that dauntless son of Macedonia, 
longing for new worlds to conquer, had set sail on the waters 
which led to the Pacific, and had lived out his natural term 
of threescore years and ten, instead of dying at the age of 
thirty-three with his life work just begun, the star of empire 



might have continued its way eastward. But just as he was 
about to embark on this voyage of exploration, it is recorded 
that he developed a fever and died on the eleventh day. A 
diagnosis from this distance is difficult, but death from fever 
on the eleventh day suggests typhus. The thought is a 
humiliation to all mankind. Could the fate of the world 
have hinged on the bite of a louse? 






O UR plans for the development of a chain of hospitals 
and dispensaries In Macedonian Serbia were subject 
to the rapidly changing conditions of a country recovering 
after years of warfare and enemy occupation. Permanent 
hospitals had been opened at Monastir by Serbian agencies, 
and the urgent need at that point had been relieved, but at 
Strumitza and Prellp no provision for the sick had been 
made. At the request of the Serbian Department of Health 
we consented to conduct hospitals at those points, with the 
understanding that the Serbian Ministry provide a small 
part of the budget. Again the Red Cross came to our 
help with supplies. The following excerpt is from a letter 
of instruction written by Dr. Kendall Emerson, at Paris, 
to Major Lyon at Belgrade; 

I have had a satisfactory talk with Dr. Gray of the Amer- 
ican Women’s Hospitals regarding the property at the Monastir 
Hospital. As you know, this hospital was established and has 
been run as an American Women’s Hospitals enterprise, with 
the cooperation of the American Red Cross. The exact status 
of the original equipment I have not strictly in mind, but the 
American Women’s Hospitals certainly contributed largely to 
this equipment. With this fact in view, you are authorized to 
consult with Dr. Gray as to the disposition of equipment of the 
hospital, and any solution which you and Dr. Gray shall make 
will be acceptable here. 



' 55 , 

From the beginning to the end of our service in Serbia 
the American Red Cross was generous in gifts of supplies, 
in many instances delivering carloads of material at our 
headquarters, and relieving us of the cost and responsibility 
of transportation. Without this help, It would have been 
Impossible for the American Women’s Hospitals to have 
functioned so promptly and effectively. On May 14, 1920, 
Dr. Gray wrote as follows: 

We have been in Veles six months, and in that time we have 
treated 16,000 persons in our clinic. We have opened a hospital 
and every bed has been full, and patients on the floor all the 
time. About 100 patients daily are received at the Pristina 
clinic, and at our station at Podujevo about 2,000 cases a month 
have been cared for since last January. We are also running a 
clinic at Gratchnitza. At Pristina we have a hospital and hope 
to be able to move into a new building before long. Lumber 
for the repairs of this building is being sent to-day. The 
Children’s Hospital on the hill above Veles is ready for occupa- 
tion, and before you get this letter it will be in full swing. 

Our work in Southern Serbia Increased rapidly, and by 
the end of 1920 thousands of cases were being reported 
monthly. Dr. Lilia Ridout had been placed in charge of the 
hospital at Prelip; Dr. Mary Elliott of Chicago was head 
of the Strumitza Hospital, and Dr. Irene Tognazzinl was 
running the Pristina Hospital with the help of two Amer- 
ican nurses. 

Under the direction of Dr. Gray, assisted by Drs. Hazel 
D. Bonness, May T. Stout, Marguerite White, Mary N. 
Bercea and Miss Freda Frost, head nurse and general 
supervisor, with a corps of American nurses, Veles became 
an Important medical center, especially for surgical work 
and children’s diseases. Patients came from all directions, 
sometimes walking for miles and reaching the hospital in a 
state of complete exhaustion. We have a report of one boy 
who walked fifteen days slowly leading his sister, who could 
not see, to the eye clinic. Many of the sick and disabled 



came in ox-carts, or on donkeys, and those who could not 
afford to pay for lodgings at the world’s worst hotels sat 
outside the hospital walls and waited until beds were 

Chronic surgical cases had been accumulating in that 
district for years. Such hernias! The country had been 
stripped of its horses, and men and women had become pack 
animals. Under the heavy weights which these burden 
bearers carried on their backs their abdominal walls gave 
way, and all kinds of hernias resulted, some of which were 
of enormous size, containing part of the abdominal viscera. 
Without treatment these unfortunate people got worse or 
died. If the rupture was small and an intestinal loop 
became strangulated, the victim suffered agony and died 
promptly. But where strangulation did not occur, the ab- 
dominal contents escaped, little by little, through the open- 
ing, and the hernia increased in size month after month 
and year after year. 

Dr. Gray, in her surgical cap and gown, with a choice 
selection of scalpels, forceps, scissors, needles and thread, 
bandages and anaesthetics, was a popular lady with the 
hernia brotherhood. One after another they came to be 
operated upon and sometimes sat in the court for a week 
waiting for a bed. 

A Comitadji chieftain from the mountains, a regular “he- 
man” with emphasis on the he, appeared at the hospital one 
fine morning. Everybody knew him and made way. With 
his band of brigands he had helped take the Bubuna Pass 
from the Bulgarians, and this service had glorified a crim- 
inal record of many years. Like Drake, Morgan and other 
dear old pirates and bandits of the past, whose natural gifts 
and initiative had been developed in active private practice, 
he was highly qualified when the time came to answer his 
country’s call. 

This nationally acknowledged dare-devil, and leader of 
dare-devils, looked the part as he walked among the com- 



mon men in the hospital court. Times had been hard for 
several years, but he wasn’t wearing any cast-off American 
clothes. The Macedonian costume was his native dress, 
and he was proud of its color and its cut. It had a style 
of its own. Every part of his picturesque suit, from cap 
to opankes (sandals), bristled with personality. His move- 
ments had grace and swank. In physical type he stood be- 
tween Apollo and Hercules, with an “eye like Mars to 
threaten and command.” The sound of his voice was known 
and feared in the Macedonian mountains, and great was 
the curiosity in the men’s ward and the women’s ward when 
it was whispered that he, too, had a weak spot, an Achilles’ 
heel, as It were, in his groin. 

Men, guns or governments had no terrors for our brigand 
chief. His life had been an open defiance of constituted 
authority, but the first whiff of ether In the distance and he 
was a changed man. He had heard about the stuff and 
he was afraid it would get him unaware. The hernia threat- 
ened his life, and worse. It would make him a physical 
weakling, therefore he had decided to take the chance, live 
or die. But he didn’t want to die ingloriously breathing 
devil fumes. Milder than a lamb for the sacrifice, he 
allowed the assistants to strap him to the operating table. 
Fortunately, they strapped him well, for after the first few 
whiffs of ether he found himself In his fiercest mood, and 
if his arms had been free he might have reached out a giant 
hand and wrung somebody’s neck. His language was not 
understood, but his tone and vehemence were piratical, 
strangely suggesting a North Pacific whaler of the old 
school, trained before the mast, in the first throes of an 

The American nurse giving the ether could not pro- 
nounce his Macedonian name, but Willie Is a good name for 
all big men who are afraid in the dark, and over and over 
in a low mothering croon, she repeated: “Breathe it In, 
Willie, there’s a good boy. Don’t be afraid, take a long 



breath.” Gradually his violence subsided, his aspect 
changed and another dangerous personality emerged. This 
bad boy brigand turned good. There was method in his 
murmurs. He was going on a long journey through a 
strange country where there were evil spirits, werewolves 
and all kinds of unknown dangers. He was afraid to go 
alone. Perhaps he could coax one of these women to go 
with him. His voice became soft, cajoling, pleading and 
irresistible, as drop by drop the ether fell on the cone over 
his mouth. The little Macedonian nurse understood his 
language. After the manner of women, she felt sorry 
for this strong, weak man, so she slipped her hand into 
his and he held tight to this world while he floated away 
into oblivion — and when he came back he hadn’t any 

At the Pristina Hospital a few bandits, more or less, had 
ceased to create special remark by the time I visited the 
place in 1921. Pristina is near northern Albania in the 
Kosova country. This territory was formerly Albanian, 
and while it was ceded to the Serbs after the Balkan wars, 
a large proportion of the population had not declared their 
allegiance to the Kingdom of the Serbs, Croats and Slovenes 
without mental reservations. 

The country was supposed to be at peace with the world, 
but every Thursday afternoon the surgery of the Pristina 
Hospital was prepared for casualties, like a dressing station 
behind the lines when troops go over the top. Thursday 
was market day, and those who had nothing to sell were 
wont to divide profits with those who brought their pigs to 
market by waylaying them on the highways when they were 
returning to their village homes with the proceeds of the 
day’s sales. 

Bands of Albanian bandits called Katchaks were held 
responsible for these malefactions, but the chances are that 
many a good soldier out of a job took advantage of this 
smoke screen to secure a little pin money. After these skir- 

Macedonian Comitadji, Burning of tlie lioye, with our hospital supplies in the 

\V. H. Cr.oTHixG Station, Skopue, Serria, 1922. 
'r!ie Turkish women are heavily veiled. 



mishes the wounded were sometimes brought to the Pristina 
Hospital, and it was strongly suspected that some of those 
who claimed to have been held up were in the hold-up game 
themselves. It was Impossible for an American to differen- 
tiate between an Albanian Katchak and a descendant of a 
Serbian Highduk. In their picturesque native costumes 
there was no resemblance, but in hospital pajamas there was 
no distinguishing difference. 

Honor and shame from no condition rise, they depend 
upon a point of view, and nothing is more honorable for a 
self-respecting Katchak than to hold up a Serb, rob him of 
his last stitch of clothes and leave him in naked humiliation 
upon the public highway. 

Gentlemen driving automobiles have been held up by 
bandits in this territory, stripped of everything save the 
automobile and their skins, in which they have driven into 
town. An automobile would be absolutely useless in the 
mountain fastnesses where bandits are supposed to live, and 
an embarrassing possession to an honest peasant. Besides, 
some men have a strange sense of humor which they love to 
gratify. A band of Katchaks would roar with laughter at 
the sight of a traditional enemy, sans garments, at the wheel 
of an automobile ignominiously breaking the speed limit, 
with the encouragement of a few stray shots in the air. 
Albania and Arizona are not so far apart in spirit. 

The evils attributed to border bandits did not seem to 
lessen the popularity of the Albanian tribal costume. No 
cowboy was ever prouder of his chaps and sombrero than 
these men are of their petticoats, pantaloons, caps and other 
articles of wearing apparel designating the tribes to which 
they belong. There is a difference in color, detail and orna- 
mentation of the native Balkan costumes, but we were par- 
ticularly interested in the pattern of the trousers with 
capacious seats, in which large quantities of loot could be 
conveniently stowed away. 

The fiance of a girl with typhoid fever in one of our 



hospitals called frequently. The nurse in charge of the 
woman’s ward noticed that after these visits there was a 
shortage of towels, and sometimes only one sheet was left 
on the patient’s bed. It was also noticed that the baggy, 
sack-like seat of the visitor’s trousers hung flat and pendant 
almost to his popliteal spaces when he came in, and pre- 
sented a rounded, feminine outline when he left. The Ser- 
bian nurse was instructed to record her observations. A 
blanket disappeared, a small pillow laid out as a bait was 
quickly tucked away, and everybody waited to see what he 
would do about the mattress, but so far as we know he 
never so much as attempted to smuggle a mattress out of 
that ward. 

When the patient was strong enough to bear the shock, 
she was accused of complicity in this crime, to which she 
confessed with copious tears. She acknowledged her guilt 
and took all the responsibility, admitting that she had no 
dowry, and therefore had suggested this means of acquiring 
household goods in order that they might get married as 
soon as she was able to leave the hospital. But grief and 
woe! Now that everything was ready, her sweetheart 
would be sent to prison and she wished she had died. Over 
and over again she declared, as though she feared we 
doubted the statement, that they had not been responsible 
for the war, but had suffered terribly, and that luck was 
always against them. For a week or more things had been 
going so well. They had acquired several towels, sheets 
and everything but a mattress, and the young man had a 
donkey which he got elsewhere. She was getting stronger 
every day, and life seemed so sweet and promising, but 
some talebearer, an accursed Bulgar, if the truth were 
known, had betrayed them, and all was lost. This incident 
in the history of the American Women’s Hospitals was a 
tragedy, in wiiich love, hope, fortune and all the joys of 
the world were involved. Needless to say, our patient was 
forgiven, and it has been whispered that a certain American 


woman in the service added a mattress to the dowry of that 
home-making girl. 

In connection with our hospitals, outlying clinics were con- 
ducted at Giljiane, Podujevo, Gratchnitza, Frisovitch and 
Urasavitch by Dr. Ellen Cover and Miss Nora Hollway. 
They not only cared for the sick, but carefully refrained 
from assuming the duties of the secret police, and probing 
Into the causes of wounds. When an Injured person volun- 
teered the information that he had been hooked by a bull, 
cut accidentally with a scythe, or kicked on the top of the 
head by a water-buffalo, these statements were accepted 
without comment and the proper treatment administered. 

In the districts where robberies were the order of the day, 
our people were never molested. The popularity of our 
nurses was at first attributed to their charming personali- 
ties, but later we learned that it was a case of “safety 
first.” On a journey through the mountains, an A. W. H. 
nurse was as good as a guard of gendarmes, and men of high 
and middle degree were always asking for the privilege of 
riding with our personnel. On one occasion our automobile 
was stopped in the dusk of the evening by armed men, who 
apologized, and disappeared without further explanation. 

Brigands in the Balkans and Near Eastern countries 
have always had an honorable standing with those against 
the prevailing government. It Is sometimes hard to tell 
whether these “irregulars” are outlaws or patriots. In 
any case, they are a convenient group to charge with par- 
ticularly atrocious crimes, which are, in spite of all the post- 
war whitewashing, committed by soldiers of invading 

David, the anointed, had a queer crowd with him in the 
Cave of Adullum; “And every one that was in distress and 
every one that was in debt, and every one that was discon- 
tented, gathered themselves unto him, and he became a 
captain over them.” That was strange conduct for a law- 
abiding, psalm-singing citizen. 



The suppression of brigandage in a country with 90 per 
cent peasant population, where the man with the hoe and 
the woman with the rake lighten their labors, while cultivat- 
ing their ten acres, by singing the glories of unconquerable 
highduks who died in their opankes, is very difficult. These 
songs have no tunes. They are chanted in blank verse, 
absolutely blank, and after the first week they sound like 
the dirge of the dismal swamp to an outsider, but to those 
who know what it is all about, they are said to be soul- 
inspiring to the highest degree. The burden of some of 
these chants glorifying the questionable exploits of outlaws, 
in spirit and substance is as follows: 

What though the field be lost? 

All is not lost ; the unconquerable will 
The study of revenge, immortal hate 
And courage never to submit or yield. 

During the Turkish occupation for five hundred years, 
the Ancient and Honorable Order of Highduks kept the 
flicker of liberty burning in the Balkan mountains. After 
each defeat the survivors took to the hills, from which they 
sallied forth to plunder the invading Turk, dig pits for his 
feet, harry his flank, van, rear, shoot up his villages, kill 
his janizaries, kidnap his pashas, lead insurrections against 
him, and to make things so generally hot for him that he 
finally got out. Naturally, the people sing. Glory be to the 
highduk, may he live long and prosper! And this en- 
courages adventurous young men to stay at home, instead 
of leaving the country and joining the Foreign Legion. 

Five hundred years are twenty generations, and the spirit 
of the last paragraph encouraged and cultivated for that 
length of time cannot suddenly be turned into paths of sub- 
mission to the will of the majority, or the minority, as the 
case may be. Wise men say that history is inclined to 
repeat itself, and there certainly have been Davids in the 
Balkan mountains during every generation. Our David, 



alias Willie, who had the hernia, is there now, and anybody 
who goes out to capture him should be armed with an 

My spelling of the word highduk is original. Some 
writers spell this word haiduk and heydiik, but highduk 
carries the American meaning and associates the term with 
other designations having the prefix high, two of which, 
highbinder and highjacker, are perhaps worthy to be 
classed with highduk. 

In official circles, the highduk has lost his popularity, and 
is called a comitadjl. He is a nuisance to the police, but 
what are they to do? The peaceful peasant following his 
furrow, comforts his soul by chanting the story of the 
Highduk, Kara George, under whose military leadership 
Serbia regained her freedom, over a hundred years ago. 
The Turks nicknamed this terror Kara George (Black 
George), and the name took. He founded the Kara- 
georgevich dynasty, was King Peter’s grandfather, and 
great-grandfather of Alexander, the present King of the 
Serbs, Croats and Slovenes. 





T he story of the Children’s Elospital at Veles is the best 
and brightest page of the history of our work in Serbia. 
When countries declare war, they declare war chiefly on 
their children. These little ones are not killed with shot 
and shell — nothing so merciful. Famine and pestilence are 
their portion. They die slowly from diseases Incident to 
malnutrition. Maimed and suffering, many of those who 
were hard to kill came to the Children’s Hospital on the 
hill with bone, joint and glandular disorders resulting from 
protracted undernourishment. 

Our physicians had been trained in America, where most 
people have enough to eat all the time, and they were 
amazed to see children with seemingly incurable diseases 
begin to get well as soon as they got half a chance. The 
following is taken from a letter received from Dr. Gray in 
the spring of 1921: 

We have at present 160 children and shall be able to take at 
least 30 more. They come from all over Serbia, but most of 
them from Macedonia, where there is the greatest need. . . . 
It would be a pity to close, for we do not know what we would 
do with these pathetic little children. We have a lot of Pott’s 
disease, and tuberculosis of the joints, and these cases are doing 
so well. They improve more rapidly than such cases do at 
home, and it is a great gratification to watch them day after 
day. The poorest, skinniest little things come in, and as soon as 
they get proper food and care, they gain so fast. 

These little patients had all been kept in close quarters, 




and at first their mothers strongly objected to their sleeping 
out of doors. It was useless to argue with them. The 
improved condition of the children soon silenced their objec- 
tions. They had good food, clean beds, warm clothing, 
playthings, a wonderful sun court, and a Christmas tree 
with presents at the proper season. 

Time after time it seemed as though we should be obliged 
to close our hospitals in Serbia for lack of funds, but saving 
angels hovered over this work, and made it possible to carry 
on. In January, 1921, the following letter from the Min- 
istry of Social Politics of the Kingdom of Serbs, Croats and 
Slovenes, was received at our headquarters at Veles, trans- 
lated, and sent to the home office : 





Doctor Etta Gray, Medical Director, 

American Women’s Hospitals, 

Veles, Serbia. 

Dear Doctor Gray: 

Your mission came to our country when relief was most 
needed, for the enemy had left on all sides devastation and 
ruins and our population famished, naked and destitute. As 
a result of this situation the children suffered mostly, for they 
were defenseless. 

Your help, medical treatment and hospital service saved us 
a great number of our children’s lives. For this our Ministry 
expresses our deepest gratitude and begs you to ask your friends 
at home — the philantrops of our children — to make it possible 
for your mission to continue until our institutions are stronger 
and able to take over your well-organized hospitals and continue 
your work. 

The Ministry thanks you once more for the relief and 
medical help given until the present time, and begs you to 
influence your organization to continue your work here. 

By order of the Minister of Social Politics, 

(Signed) V. Petrovitch, Chief. 



After Inspecting our hospitals and dispensaries In the 
spring of 1921, a representative of the American Relief 
Administration recommended that clothing for 24,000 chil- 
dren be assigned to us. This order was reduced to 10,000 
pairs of shoes and stockings, an ample supply of undercloth- 
ing and materials out of which 20,000 suits for children 
were made at Skoplje. We employed a large number of 
women to do this work, and the clothing was distributed 
from our stations In the Skoplje Oblast. 

Patients with appalling eye diseases were among the first 
to appeal for help when our clinics opened in Serbia. There 
had never been an oculist in the country, and cataract cases 
had accumulated. People do not die of cataract. They 
gradually go blind while remaining in good physical health. 
The fact that this condition is curable adds greatly to the 
tragedy of It when it is Impossible to get proper treatment. 
One of the most tragic figures I ever met in a book had 
black hair and white eyes. In Macedonian Serbia, a large 
number of people had black hair and white eyes, and many 
of them sat in darkness day after day by the wayside beg- 
ging like blind Bartimaeus. Ages of disappointment had 
not destroyed their hope and faith. They, too, believed in 
miracles, and their prayer was always the same: “Lord, 
that I might receive my sight.” 

And in the district round about Veles, this prayer was an- 
swered. A woman was sent from America who could give 
them back their sight. And the man with the greatest faith 
came first. A slight but skillful operation was performed, 
and after a few days, the light which had been shut away 
for so many years reached his center of vision and he could 
see. The story of this seeming miracle was passed from 
person to person. The blind came In increasing numbers, 
and over four hundred were operated upon and their sight 

The emergency nature of the American Women’s Hos- 
pitals’ service In different countries has precluded the pos- 



sibility of keeping complete records. The available reports, 
covering about two-thirds of the work actually done in 
Serbia, show that 3,996 eye and ear cases were cared for, 
and that 1,068 operations were performed for the relief of 
eye diseases. 

Dr. Mary N. Bercea was the head of our dental work. 
She was the only dentist in the Veles district. Children 
were preferred patients at the dental clinic, but young sol- 
diers, especially officers, appreciated the value of good 
teeth, and there was always a waiting list of such men, and 
a long line of other people, including Turkish women wear- 
ing black tcharchaffs and heavy veils. 

The country had been Turkish for centuries, and habits 
of mind and dress are not so quickly changed, especially 
among women. Progressive men are often very conserva- 
tive regarding women’s clothes. Whatever the reason may 
be, a great many women In Serbian Macedonia were wear- 
ing a mouth covering symbolizing modesty; not a dainty 
gauze yashmak, but a thick mouth mask, and behind this 
mask lurked pyorrhea. 

From the beginning of our work In Southern Serbia, 
nurses were trained to care for the sick. This plan con- 
served our funds and gave the work a permanent value. 
A large number of young women applied for service In our 
hospitals, and the best educated and most Intelligent were 
selected. Eight years of warfare had left most of them 
so poor that they were without shoes. These girls were 
grateful for food and clothing, and particularly for instruc- 
tion. Nurses’ training was an innovation. There was a 
strong prejudice against nursing, due to a Mohammedan 
point of view, and to the social status of women in that 
country who served in hospitals. This attitude was modi- 
fied In regard to our hospitals for the reason that a measure 
of chaperonage was afforded which protected the reputa- 
tions of the girls in our service, to the end that their matri- 
monial prospects were not jeopardized. 



This part of Serbia was passing through a process of 
readjustment under a new government. As a result of the 
Balkan Wars a large section of Macedonia had been 
acquired from Turkey, but a state of war had been almost 
continuous since its acquisition. During its military occu- 
pation by the Central Powers, the people were naturally 
wondering whether they were Bulgarian or Turkish, and 
the majority of them were not yet sure that it was safe 
to be Serbian. 

Many interesting angles — national, political, social, racial 
and religious — were exhibited in unexpected quarters. 
Tribal customs and superstitions were not without advo- 
cates. The gypsies exhibited the least anxiety. They didn’t 
seem to care whether they were Serbian, Bulgarian, Greek 
or Albanian. In any case, they would eat, tell fortunes and 
furnish the music for the national dances and religious fes- 

In addition to the training of nurses, we were asked by 
the government to conduct classes for Serbian women in 
district nursing and child welfare, in cooperation with Ser- 
bian physicians, who were to instruct these women In 
obstetrics. On the surface, this program was all very fine, 
but there was an undercurrent of opposition made up of 
the forces which stand for things as they are, and the forces 
which stood for things as they were in Macedonia were 
weird-looking forces from our point of view. 

The midwives held a paradoxical position, and were nat- 
urally opposed to the medical education of young women, 
which, in time, would put an end to their peculiar power. 
Some of them belonged to this day and age, and were 
fairly well qualified, but most of them were queer old 
“Babas” held in low esteem, but wielding enormous influ- 
ence in the community. The Witch of Endor, with her 
various brews, had no less power for evil than some of 
these “Antikas.” 

Miss Lucy Morhous was the head of our first nurses’ 

Convalescent children dancing the kola. 

Court of the Children’s Hospital, Veles, Serbia. Dr. Etta Gray and 
Mrs. Marian P. Cruikshank. 

Dr. May T. Stout and a group of cataract patients. Over four hundred 
operations were performed in our Serbian hospitals for the relief of blindness 
due to cataract during the years 1920-22. 

Dr. Mary A. hercea, head of 
the A. \V. H. dental service, 
Veles, Serbia, 1919-22. 

Ella \\\ Ilarri-^on, R. N., with 
Serbian student nurses. 



training class, which was started in Veles in January, 1920. 
The student nurses were not up to the standard of our 
present-day American student nurses, but they were up to 
the standard of our student nurses at the time of the begin- 
ning of nurses’ training in the United States as a nation- 
wide educational movement. Some of these young women 
displayed remarkable aptitude, and in a short time learned 
to take orders In English and to care for minor cases. 
Dr. Gray was enthusiastic about them as her letter of 
March 4, 1920, indicates: 

We are sending you a picture of Miss Morhous and her class 
of nurses. There are fourteen of them and they look so well 
in their blue dresses and white aprons. They have been in 
training a little over a month, and they do practically all the 
routine work in the dispensary and hospital, under the super- 
vision of American nurses. 

The training class grew with the hospital and dispensary 
service. Mrs. Ella W. Harrison was sent to Veles in Feb- 
ruary 1921, as general supervisor, and Mrs. Marian P. 
Cruikshank went out as Dr. Gray’s surgical nurse, and took 
over the surgical training of the student nurses. On account 
of exceptional ability, some of these girls were sent to Bel- 
grade when the Government training school for nurses was 
established, and the first probationer accepted at our Veles 
Hospital without shoes on her feet, is one of the leading 
pioneer trained nurses in Serbia to-day. 

Our hospitals, clinics, dispensaries, and distributing sta- 
tions for clothing were in full swing when I visited Serbia 
in August, 1921. The government cooperated with us in 
every way, even to the point of assigning a pope to offer 
religious consolation to our patients, and a special cemetery 
in which to bury our dead. While passing through the 
men’s ward of the Veles Hospital, the startling blare of a 
railway engine was heard in the distance, and the nurses 
sprang to the bedsides of patients recently operated upon 



and held them down, while all the others jumped out of bed 
and rushed to the windows in the greatest excitement. My 
first thought was fire. Later I learned that one of the 
advantages of being operated upon at that hospital was 
seeing the “Americanski” railway engine when it went by 
about once a week. 

An encouraging letter regarding the climate of Veles 
written by a wayfarer in a springtime mood described the 
place as, “a picturesque town nestling in the arms of green 
hills,” but when I was there in August, it was sizzling in a 
caldron of granite. Of course, we slept out of doors, and 
at the break of the first day, I was awakened by a man’s 
voice close above our heads saying: *‘La ilaha illa-Uahu, 
Muhammad rasid allahi’' 

It was Mustapha, the muezzin, on the minaret which 
overlooked our yard, announcing that there was no God but 
Allah and Mohammed was his prophet. Five times a day 
beginning at dawn and finishing after dark, he appeared 
on that balcony in the performance of his religious duties, 
and the rest of the time he worked as janitor at the Chil- 
dren’s Hospital. 

We were proud of our Mustapha, and he was ashamed 
of us sleeping out in the open with our bare faces under his 
very eyes, and proving to what lengths women will go if 
they get the chance. Alms to the poor was part of his 
creed, and in this particular he approved our plans, pointing 
out the true path in other respects to some of our person- 
nel, but the Moslem religion is a man’s religion, and he 
didn’t make any converts. 

Mustapha was a very poor janitor, but there wasn’t a 
better muezzin in the Vardar Valley. Clear as a bell his 
voice rang out over the hills at dawn calling the faithful 
to prayer, incidentally indicating the daylight-saving time, 
and thereby regulating the activities of the district. 

Immediately after his call on the first morning, the roos- 

^ There is no God, but God (Allah), Mahomet, is the apsotle of God. 



ters began to crow, the magpies in the big tree In the corner 
of our yard began to chatter, the sun rose and the town was 
stirring. A little later our gates were opened, the clinic 
patients began to arrive, and the work was started for the 
day. After observing this routine for a week, I realized who 
ordered the days and nights at Veles. 

Mustapha cut a picturesque figure with mop and bucket. 
The first time I saw him he wore a high white fez, a union 
suit with auxiliary safety pins and a pair of slippers without 
socks. But on the minaret In the moonlight he was a 
different man — a revelation to the yard-sleepers. His 
silhouette In the bowl of night seemed part of that towering 
spire and all It represented. When the moon hung low this 
shadow of Islam was cast over our quarters, and to drowse 
in the dead of the night and watch it creeping stealthily 
among our sleeping figures was a weird experience. 

^‘La ilaha illa-llahu, Muhammad rasul allahi.” The 
muezzins were making this announcement from minarets 
in Veles two hundred years before the Mayflower arrived 
at Plymouth Rock, and the chances are this ceremony has 
rarely been omitted. According to Mustapha, when the 
Balkan Allies took Veles from the Turks, and all the evils 
from which the world has suffered since began, they shot 
the first muezzin who appeared on the minaret and began 
the call. Fortunately, this emergency had been anticipated. 
Another muezzin stepped out to continue the ceremony and 
was promptly shot, a third stepped out, took up the chant 
and met the same fate, and a fourth came out and finished 
the call. Faith had won. The Infidels were defeated. At 
least they stopped shooting. Perhaps they were out of 
ammunition. More likely they lacked the nerve for a 
hundred per cent massacre, and nothing less would have 
served the purpose. 

Surrounded by dangers of different kinds, the only Immi- 
nent danger to our staff was from Insects and this danger 
had been reduced to a minimum. Successful measures were 



in operation against the crawling varieties, but it was not so 
easy to control the activities of winged insects. Every 
night we tucked the bottoms of our canopies well in under 
our mattresses, and with lighted candles, we crawled around 
on our hands and knees, hunting and killing every mosquito 
on the inside. Mustapha observing this strange behavior 
from the minaret probably thought we were engaged in 
some sort of a wicked religious rite, and was more than 
ever convinced that our system was all wrong. 

Fear of a disease does not induce that disease in my case. 
Actuated by fear, I killed every mosquito that got under 
my canopy and I didn’t get the malaria that time, but 
the sand flies got me. Most of the personnel had had 
sand fly fever, and one attack manifestly produces immu- 
nity. While the fever ran high, it seemed to me that the 
whole world was chanting. The Turks in a nearby cafe 
played on a queer instrument and chanted in a minor key. 
A poor w’oman whose son had died walked to and fro 
chanting her sorrow, much of which related to some clothes 
she had recently purchased for him. Peddlars moved 
along the streets chanting the qualities of the things they 
had to sell; the cook chanted about the onions and carrots 
in the soup while she worked; the turtle doves chanted; a 
great flock of magpies that slept in our big tree chanted 
every evening, and from out of the darkness, the dusk and 
the dawn there came a voice forever chanting: “La ilaha 
illa-llahu, Muhammad rasul allalii.’* 







T he work of the American Women’s Hospitals in Near 
Eastern countries began In a small way. The World 
War was over, at least we thought it was, and we were anx- 
ious to do our bit in salvaging the survivors. Medical serv- 
ice was sadly needed in countries where progress had been 
retarded for centuries by oppressive forms of government. 
But that was all In the past. A new day was dawning. The 
peace conference was In session, and we felt quite sure that 
we should find the world, including Russia and Turkey, 
ready and anxious to be made over in accordance with the 
plans and specifications of the experts at Versailles. 

Eight women physicians, Gladys L. Carr of Brook- 
line, Mass., Mabel E. Elliott of Benton Harbor, Mich., 
Elfie Richards Graff of Somerville, N. J., Emily Clark Mac- 
Leod of Boston, Mass., Blanche Norton of Weehawken, 
N. J., Caroline Rosenberg of San Francisco, Elsie R. 
Mitchell and Clara Williams of Berkley, California, were 
selected and equipped by our organization for service with 
the American Committee for Armenian and Syrian Relief, 
which later became the Near East Relief Committee. Five 
of these physicians sailed with a large group of relief 
workers on the Leviathan in February, 1919, and arrived 
at Constantinople in the early part of March. 




This was the first appearance of the American Women’s 
Hospitals in near eastern countries. The meaning of the let- 
ters A.W.H. was unknown in that part of the world, but 
this meaning has gradually been revealed in service to the 
sick, until it has become widely known, especially in Greece 
and the Islands of the Tigean Sea, since the exodus of the 
Christian people from Turkey. 

More than a year before the armistice, in anticipation 
of the collapse of Russia, a Federation of Georgia, Armenia 
and Azerbaijan under a provisional government was pro- 
claimed. This union was short-lived. All the forces which 
divided the Balkan States before, during and after the 
war, plus factors peculiar to the Caucasus, worked for dis- 
solution, and after the signing of the Brest-LItovsk treaty 
between Germany and Russia, this tripartite federation 
divided into three separate republics, none of which was 
strong enough to stand alone. 

During the period of uncertainty which immediately fol- 
lowed, Georgia accepted German assistance, and the Armen- 
ian Republic of Erivan was accorded de facto recognition 
by the Allied Powers, a gracious noncommittal gesture. The 
Russian Bolsheviks, Armenian Dashnakists, returning Cau- 
casian soldiers released from the Russian Army, and other 
radicals, had established a government of their own at 
Baku, which controlled enormous oil supplies. And, with 
divers treaties, governments, religions, and groups inspired 
with a passion for self-determination all pulling in different 
directions, confusion worse confounded reigned in the Cau- 

After the signing of the Armistice of Mudros on October 
30, 1918, and the one we celebrate on November ii, peace 
was established on paper, but the fighting continued in that 
far away part of the world. Turkey was crushed, so the 
newspapers said, and the victorious nations were to free 
the Christian subjects of the Ottoman Empire at last. The 
sacrifices of two thousand years had not been in vain. 



Thanksgiving prayers went up from churches and homes 
throughout the Caucasus and Asia Minor, while the Turk- 
ish Nationalists and the Caucasian and Russian Bolsheviks 
gathered strength for the final test. 

There were doubting Thomases — there always are. They 
doubted the evidence of their own eyes. The Dardanelles 
and Bosphorus were open. The Allies occupied Constan- 
tinople, Trans-Caucasia, and other important territory in 
near eastern countries. The Allied ships moved to and 
fro upon the Black Sea. Surely the day of deliverance was 
at hand! 

For at least a hundred years, the Christian people of the 
United States and other countries had encouraged their 
coreligionists in Turkey to keep the faith. As a final expres- 
sion of sympathy, funds were gathered and representatives 
sent to care for the sick and helpless, while the new order 
decreed by the peacemakers was being established in these 
old lands. 

The women physicians among the representatives of 
American compassions were assigned for service in differ- 
ent places. Dr. Carr, X-ray specialist, supervised the 
installation of apparatus in many hospitals in different parts 
of Turkey; Dr. Elliott was sent to Marash, Dr. MacLeod 
to Malatia, Dr. Norton to Trebizond, Dr. Graff was sta- 
tioned at Constantinople, and Drs. Mitchell and Williams 
volunteered for service at Erivan, the capital of the new 
Armenian Republic where typhus fever was raging. Dr. 
Williams was afterward sent to Etchmiadzin, the seat of 
the Armenian Katholicos, head of the Gregorian Church, 
under the shadow of Mount Ararat. 

Old Ararat, near the center of a line drawn from the 
Cape of Good Hope to the Behring Straits, was not placed 
in the middle of the Eastern Hemisphere for nothing. This 
mountain has been associated with the beginning of things 
since the beginning, traditionally and otherwise. It is easy 
to understand why a section of the earth’s surface near the 



headwaters of the Euphrates at the base of Ararat has been 
definitely designated as the birthplace of mankind. To the 
east was the Great Unknown, the Land of Nod, where Cain 
got his wife, and from whence terrible people appeared with 
increasing frequency and in increasing numbers as the ages 
passed. Century after century, the waves of war, trade 
and nomadism, washed this neck of land, leaving a hetero- 
geneous mixture of antagonistic tribes, races, national and 
religious groups. 

Talk about melting pots! Here is an ethnological cru- 
cible into which the metal of mankind had been thrown, age 
after age, since Noah came down from the mountain with 
his sons, Shem, Ham and Japheth. Blood mixture has 
occurred throughout the generations, but the flame of love 
has not been great enough to effect complete amalgamation. 

Shem, Ham, Japheth and the folks from the Land of 
Nod, don’t want to become one people. Most of them 
have resisted fusion from the beginning, each group strug- 
gling for separate survival with the instinctive hope and 
expectation of inheriting the earth. 

According to Armenian tradition, the Araxes Valley, at 
the base of Mount Ararat, is the site of the Garden of 
Eden. It was here that Adam and Eve ate of the tree 
of knowledge and brought the curse of God upon the earth : 
“Cursed is the ground for thy sake, in sorrow shalt thou eat 
of it all the days of thy life. ... So He drove out the 
man; and He placed on the east of the Garden of Eden 
Cherubims, and a flaming sword which turned every way, 
to keep the way of the tree of life.” It is not hard to 
believe this story after seeing the place. Looking toward 
the east in the light of recorded history, it is easy to imagine 
the “flaming sword” which through all the ages, and never 
more than in this generation, has “turned every way.” 

The Erivan assignment presented many difficulties, but 
was especially Interesting on account of the religious and 
historic associations of the country. From a clinical stand- 

Dr. Elsie Reed Mitchell, director of the A. W. H. service, 
Armenia, 1919-20. 

{Left) The busy delouser. {Right) A barrel of sheep-dip for these lambs 
might have facilitated this work, wliich was carried on at every station. 

The Kathoucos of the Gregorian Church Receiving Litti.e Chii.dren at Etchmiadzin, 



point, it was one of the richest and most terrible fields in 
the world. The “flaming sword” had devastated the 
land and it was bringing forth “thorns and thistles” abun- 
dantly. All kinds of diseases were flowering in the valleys 
around Ararat, and the unburied dead lay in the streets 
of Erivan. 

Undaunted by the magnitude of the task, Drs. Mitchell 
and Williams of the American Women’s Hospitals, with 
the help of Miss Frances Witte and others serving with the 
Near East Relief Committee, which furnished supplies, 
started to clean up the town. They began in the gutters, 
and inspired with the idea that obstacles were made to be 
overcome, succeeded in their work. 

Hospitals and clinics were opened at Erivan and Etch- 
miadzin, and a sanitary service inaugurated. Contagious 
diseases were cared for including typhus fever which Dr. 
Mitchell, herself, had the ill luck to contract, and the good 
luck to recover from, after which the typhus louse had no 
personal terrors for her. Typhus fever is a dangerous 
disease, but the victims die or get well promptly. Those 
who recover are rewarded by a lifelong immunity which 
enhances their value as physicians and nurses during typhus 

Americans shrink from loathsome skin and eye diseases 
more than they do from those affections more dangerous to 
life. Over and over again, the story of Job has been told 
in the clinics of the American Women’s Hospitals by old 
men without so much as a potsherd wherewith to scratch 
themselves. “My flesh is clothed with worms and clots 
of dust; my skin is broken and become loathsome.” 

The following excerpts were taken from a report of Miss 
Frances Witte, superintendent of nurses at the State Man- 
hattan Hospital, New York, who was assigned for service 
by the Near East Relief, with Drs. Mitchell and Williams 
of the American Women’s Hospitals at Erivan, Armenia, 
where they served from 1919 to 1920. 



The station assigned us was the Caucasus. Typhus was 
raging there and this assignment could be made from volunteers 
only. An old Roumanian coal boat was in the harbor, (Der- 
indje) so it was seized and loaded. . . . After four days we 
reached Batoum and started to unload the ship. We were the 
gang masters and we soon learned why the ship had not ridden 
well. Nurses are good for many things, but they cannot load 
a ship although they do fairly well unloading one. Such a time! 
Dr. Mitchell’s post was at the hoisting outfit. Her “Haidai git” 
worked well, likewise her “my goodness” and “be careful!” She 
never need worry about a job. She can handle anything from 
a scalpel to a gang of hamals. We nurses in the hold laughed 
at her often and with her more often ; — she was so earnest and 
brave. . . . 

The following day our party, consisting of Drs. Mitchell and 
Williams, we two American nurses, and a group of Armenian 
girls, boarded our “side door pullman” (freight car) and began 
the trip to Erivan. The train was made up of eleven freight 
cars and one courier car in which some of the relief workers 
traveled. To travel on freight ships and freight cars living on 
canned food is no joke after the first week, but everybody made 
the best of things. We were short of water, but our trusty 
old sternos were working. With soup on one, and cocoa on 
the other we had nothing to complain about in that land of 

One morning we were riding along smoothly w'hen the 
brakes were applied and the train stopped with a jerk. There 
was a man lying across the track. Dr. Mitchell and I went 
out to help him, but it was too late. He had died of starva- 
tion. The engineer was used to such sights. He simply pulled 
the body off the track and the train moved on toward Alexan- 
drople which we reached the next day. 

There we saw the dead and dying, starvation and disease in 
all forms. Arms were stretched out to us, mouths opened show- 
ing no tongues, ej'elids parted showing no eyes, and the cries and 
appeals were dreadful. We nurses were sick, not physically, 
but mentally because we could do nothing. Erivan was our 
station, so we closed our eyes and went on. The engine puffed 
and pulled up the grade from Alexandrople to Erivan, the capi- 
tal of Armenia. The sights w^ere the same as at Alexandrople, 
but we felt a little better because we knew that we could soon 
roll up our sleeves and get busy. 



We made our way to what was called the Medical House. 
The only thing medical connected with it was one Red Cross 
nurse. There had been two nurses, but God had just called 
one of them. This young woman had contracted typhus while 
sorting out refugees and picking up little children and carrying 
them to the ambulance. These people were alive with vermin, 
and to attend them and not become infested was impossible. We 
all had ’em but only five contracted typhus. 

Erivan was in a state of chaos, and one hardly knew what 
to do first, so a refugee house was decided upon. This might 
be compared to an overcrowded stock yard with fifty per cent 
of the animals sick. The refugees came to this place during 
the day and night. They were fed, and each morning the nurse 
would sort them out, as one would sort out old rags, pick a 
living person off a dead one, or vice versa. In these cases, the 
living were too ill to know the conditions. I have picked up 
babies with protruded bowels covered with dirt and straw, and 
yet with care these poor little souls would brighten up. 

Dr. Mitchell was in charge and the real work began. I 
stayed in Erivan about two weeks, and then Dr. Williams and 
I were sent to Etchmiadzin. The Armenians had a small hospi- 
tal there. It really ought not to be called a hospital. It was simply 
a place better to die in than the streets. There were fourteen 
dead children in the morgue piled as you would pile cordwood. 
The cases in the ward ran like this: pneumonia, scarlet fever, 
measles, malaria, mumps, whooping cough, dysentery, etc. Favus 
and scabies were in full swing. 

Can’t you see Dr. Williams making her first rounds? I 
can see her now, and I can smile, but it wasn’t a smiling matter 
then. Her staff consisted of one American nurse, four Arme- 
nian doctors (men), one felcher (medical student), one Russian 
nurse, five Armenian nurses, four sanatares (orderlies) and 
eight marabeds (ward maids). With this small force, plus 
workmen for outside jobs, we began to clean up the place. The 
first thing to do was to clear the streets of the dead for sanitary 
reasons. We buried eighty-five the first day in a trench. There 
were no tears and no prayers, just an urgent desire to get rid 
of the bodies. The hospital and orphanages had to be put in 

The hospital building was made of wood with a straw roof. 
The place was alive with vermin. We whitewashed it three 
times and I used the Pyro fire extinguisher from the old Ford 



van as a pump to spray a solution of bichloride of mercury and 
soap into all the cracks. This solution became hard when it got 
cold, so if we failed to kill the bugs we sealed them up in their 
nests. The hospital was lighted by lamps, and our water came 
from a well in the back yard. 

In less than two months that place was running like a real 
hospital, and W'e had to open overflow buildings. All the 
infected cases were isolated ; smallpox and typhus were in sepa- 
rate tents, favus and scabies w'ere under control, and the children 
with whooping cough and other lung diseases slept on the 

Things were running nicely when Igdar was attacked by 
the Kurds and 800 children were sent to us from that place. 
There had been a few cases of gonorrheal ophthalmia at the 
hospital at Igdar, and in the excitement this disease was spread 
among the children and 150 cases developed. With our scant 
supplies, we worked with those children and only eight of them 
lost their sight. We hired girls to do nothing but irrigate eyes. 
Each girl had seven cases and by the time she reached the 
seventh, it was time to begin again on the first. 

Cholera came in the summer. We inoculated all the chil- 
dren and workers and no more cases appeared. Out of about 
5,000 inoculations, we had only two infected arms. With win- 
ter the green foods gave out, scurvy developed, and the mouths 
of the children began to “break down.” Two fatal cases of noma 
occurred. We had no lemons or apples, nothing in fact to check 
this scourge. Dr. Williams thought of cauterizing some of the 
worst cases, but we had no cauterizer. With the aid of the 
stove and two screw drivers, we improvised a cauterizing appar- 
atus, two nurses gave anaesthetics and Dr. Williams treated 
thirty cases with wonderful results. 

In the clinics W'e treated every kind of skin and blood disease 
from scabies to leprosy. Never having seen a case of leprosy, I 
didn’t recognize it, so I gave it the good old-fashioned treatment 
for syphilis, and I must say that mercurial ointment and potas- 
sium iodine are pretty good for leprosy. 

During all this time Dr. Mitchell was at Erivan, where 
she carried a similar work on a much larger scale until she was 
taken down with typhus fever. The dear woman was very ill 
and her convalescence was slow. 

A nurse, who has w'orked with many physicians, recognizes 
efficiency and worth, and Dr. IVIitchell and Dr. Williams were 



true physicians in every sense of the word. I worked with them 
for over a year, and in such an emergency, I should like to 
serve with them again. 

The women physicians who went to Turkey and the 
Caucasus in the spring of 1919, all had contracts for one 
year. Some of them renewed their contracts and remained 
in the field, while others returned home. The cooperative 
plan of work between the Near East Relief and the Ameri- 
can Women’s Hospitals had proved so satisfactory that 
negotiations were opened for the expansion of this service 
and the following paragraphs appeared in letters received 
from Mr. H. C. Jaquith in this connection : 

The Near East Relief Committee is deeply appreciative of 
the service which the American Women’s Hospitals contrib- 
uted to the Near East Relief during the last year, both in the 
financial support which has been given to Dr. Williams and Dr. 
Mitchell, and also in the selection of other women personnel for 
our relief work. 

• •••••••• 

The Near East Relief would like to lay before your organi- 
zation a definite suggestion for further cooperation. 

“We desire your organization to assume, if feasible, the 
medical responsibility in one of our large districts, namely Tre- 
bizond. The attached report from our managing director at 
Constantinople, covering the work of the station for December, 
will give you a more concrete idea of the extent of the need 
and the possibilities of service in this area. 

During the summer of 1920, arrangements were made 
to take over the medical service of the Near East Relief at 
Trebizond, with the understanding that if complications 
arose another field would be assigned to us. Complications 
already existed and new ones were arising month after 
month in different quarters. 

The White Russian Army under Deniken, including Gen- 
eral Wrangel’s Caucasian troops, had been defeated and the 
Russian people who had depended upon these forces for 



protection, had fled to the Black Sea ports. Thousands 
had died, and thousands had been transported by the rem- 
nant of the Russian Black Sea fleet and foreign refugee 
ships to Constantinople, Prinkipo, Lemnos and other 
islands. Typhus fever broke out among the exiles and some 
of the ships, quarantined at anchor in the Sea of Marmora, 
became death traps from which the dead were cast into the 

Under the terms of the Treaty of Sevres, President Wil- 
son had drawn the line including Trebizond in Armenian 
territory. France and England were occupying parts of 
the former Turkish Empire, and Greece, under Allied 
instructions, had taken possession of Eastern Thrace and 
the Smyrna District. The Turkish Nationalists did not 
like this any better than the Russian Bolsheviks liked the 
establishment of independent republics in the Caucasus 
which had formerly been Russian territory. 

Whatever the attitude of old Turkey and old Russia 
might have been, new Turkey and new Russia were in a posi- 
tion to exchange favors. As a choice of treaties duly 
accepted by the Turkish Government, the Nationalists pre- 
ferred the one made in Germany. The Treaty of Brest- 
Litovsk between Germany and Soviet Russia was generous 
to Turkey, and the Treaty of Sevres, dictated by the Allies, 
was generous to Greece and Armenia. After paying their 
military respects to the French at Marash, and showing 
them the way out in February, 1920, the Turkish Nation- 
alists joined hands with the Russian and Caucasian Bolshe- 
viks, across the independent republics of Erivan, Georgia 
and Azerbaijan, and the crushing process began. 

The victorious Turks advanced from the Southwest occu- 
pying city after city, while the equally victorious Bolsheviks 
advanced from the Northeast, and, caught in this vise, 
the new republics chose the evil they knew naught of, and 
hastily hoisted the red flag. 


“the smile class” THE BATTLE OF BARDAZAG AN 







W HEN the Turkish Nationalists took Marash in Feb- 
ruary, 1920, Dr. Elliott and Mrs. Mabel Power who 
were serving In a hospital in that city retired with the 
French forces. Dr. Elliott returned to the United States 
and resumed the practice of medicine In Benton Harbor, 
Michigan. Meanwhile, the proposal of the Near East 
Relief Committee that the American Women’s Hospitals 
assume the medical responsibility for a large district In Asia 
Minor had been favorably considered. Funds had been 
raised for this purpose and in the autumn of 1920, our 
Executive Board appointed Dr. Elliott head of the Ameri- 
can Women’s Hospitals’ Service In near eastern countries 
and sent her to Constantinople, with other personnel, as 
director of our work. 

Owing to the military activities of the Turkish Nation- 
alists and the Russian Bolsheviks, the Trebizond plan was 
out of the question and arrangements were made by Dr. 
Elliott to take over the medical work of the Near East 
Relief at Ismid, Derindje and Bardazag, In accordance 
with a cooperative plan which was afterward followed In 
the Caucasus and Greece. 




The Greco-Turkish War had been going on for several 
months and this new area was occupied by Greek military 
forces. Warships of Great Britain and Greece were in the 
harbor, and a large number of Christian refugees had 
crowded into the towns around the Gulf of Ismid. It was 
a good place to wait. If the Greeks won, these noncom- 
batants could move back to their homes, and if the Turks 
were victorious, they could escape massacre or deportation, 
by crossing the Sea of Marmora to Thrace. 

Health conditions were in a sad state when Dr. Elliott 
took charge of the medical service in that district. Earge 
numbers of children were dying from deprivation and expo- 
sure in the refugee camps. Typhus, tuberculosis, smallpox 
and trachoma were prevalent. The beginning of our Turk- 
ish story may, perhaps, best be told in diary form, excerpt- 
ing passages from letters and reports received from Dr. 
Elliott and Mrs. Mabel A. Nickerson, who were stationed 
at Ismid and Bardazag between January and August, 1921. 

Ismid, Turkey. 

January 5, 1921. 

I hardly know where to turn first in this hospital. When 
I tell you that I found four typhus and one smallpox case in 
the same “isolation” room, }’ou can have some kind of an idea 
what it is like. We have ten typhus cases now. 

Miss Stroger went out to distribute clothes the other day, 
in a camp on the outskirts where she had been just before the 
rain set in, and where she saw that when it did rain it was 
going to be awful, as the children were absolutely naked. She 
sent in her order for old clothes and there was some sort of a 
mix-up about it, and they did not come. In the meantime, the 
rain started and when she got out there, she got so cross because 
they didn’t take the baby clothes. Finally, she said to her inter- 
preter, “go out there and speak to the crow’d and tell the mothers 
to come and get the clothes for the children.” He talked to them 
and they told him there were no children left since the rain. 
They had all died. 



March 14, 1921. 

I wonder if the people in America realize what the magic 
words “American Women’s Hospitals” mean to these people out 
here? . . . Many of the children are brought to us with their 
knees drawn up to their chins. They have lain such a long time 
in this position trying to keep or get w'arm, that it takes days 
of oil rubbing to loosen up the tendons sufficiently to draw 
their legs down straight. Many of them die within a few 
hours after their arrival, but usually if we can get them over 
the strain of the first two or three meals, they gradually begin 
to take a little interest in life and it is a wonderful satisfaction 
to see them slowly get a grip on life and learn to smile. 

We have in our hospital what we call our “smile class.” At 
first these children lie for days and just whimper like some 
little wild animal caught in a trap. We keep coaxing them to 
smile, until one day it comes. The great trouble is that the 
children need months and months of proper care and we can’t 
keep them so long in the hospital, for there are always others 
to take their places. So I am planning a convalescent place 
across the gulf where the air is fine and they will have a lot of 

March 31, 1921. 

As you know, of course, the Greeks are advancing on this 
front, and for awhile the place was quite low as far as Greek 
soldiers were concerned, but reinforcements have come in so the 
place is pretty well filled up again. . . . We have refugees all 
the time from across the gulf where the Turks are up to their 
usual pastime of massacring the Christians. Twenty-six came 
in from a village the other day, and they were all who had 
escaped the knife. We watched the flames reach to the heavens 
as the poor little homes were laid in ashes. 

• •••••••• 

We have under treatment something like six hundred chil- 
dren for scabies. You can imagine what a job it is. For 
instance, to-morrow we start in with 220 here and 320 new 
ones were started in one of the outlying camps. They must all 
be treated three times. That means that for the next three days 
enough sulpher ointment has to be prepared to smear over 1620 
bodies. All of these children get a bath first and their clothes 
are run through our delouser. Most of them need the delouser 
for its own sake, so it kills two birds with one stone, as it were. 

To-morrow Mrs. Nickerson goes over to put the finishing 



touches on the Children’s Convalescent Camp. By the end of 
next week, we will have fifty kiddies in there. We are going 
to have a lovely place. Mrs. Nickerson is going to run it.” 

Meanwhile, the Allied nations were playing the interna- 
tional game according to established rules, catch as catch 
can, each group scoring every possible point by hook or 
crook. The stakes must have looked attractive in the dis- 
tance. The beneficiaries under the Treaty of Sevres were 
not all satisfied, and therefore, the treaty had not been rati- 
fied by all the interested countries. The Nationalist move- 
ment in Turkey was growing stronger, and a policy of 
watchful waiting with an eye single to the main chance, was 
manifested by the different powers and commercial groups. 

Greece was supported by the Allies when she went Into 
the war, but this support got weaker and weaker. Lloyd 
George and Venizelos were out of office, and the great 
powers had had enough war for one generation. Finally 
a truce was arranged, a conference called at London, and 
recommendations made which were rejected by Greece. 
This was foolish. The weak should take their medicine lest 
they get something worse. But London, Paris and Athens 
are a long distance from Anatolia, and the men who accept 
or reject terms of peace usually sit In pleasant places. They 
do not feel the heat of the fires they light, or hear the groans 
of the wounded and the screams of women and children 
personally affected by their decisions. 

After the London conference, hostilities In Anatolia were 
resumed on an Increased scale. Victory perched on the ban- 
ner of the Greeks for a time, but when different nations of 
the Allied group withheld approval of the Greek military 
program, Victory flew away and lighted on the banner of 

Refugees scurrying before the Turkish Nationalist forces, 
reached the coast cities In large numbers. The British ships 
left the harbor of Ismid and everybody understood that the 

An expatriated warship— the Kilkis, formerly the Mississippi 

Mrs. Mabel Nickerson, who kept a 
diary during the Battle of Bardazag. 

Kemalist guards at the Ismid Hospital. 

Some of the nurses who fled from oiir Ismid Hospital when the Kemalist Turks took the city. 



protection of Great Britain was withdrawn. Letters writ- 
ten by Dr. Elliott and Mrs. Nickerson give a vivid picture 
of what actually followed. On April 9, 1921, Dr. Elliott 
wrote : 

I have had a couple of anxious days. The Kemalists sur- 
rounded Bardazag yesterday and so far we have been unable to 
get in communication with Mrs. Nickerson. 

We heard the big guns booming all day yesterday, last night 
and to-day. . . . Mr. Kyser from Derindje came over this 
morning and he and I attempted to land at the Bardazag dock. 
... As we approached the landing, however, we could hear the 
“crack, crack” of the rifles on all sides and the occasional “bang” 
of the big guns, and we could not persuade the boatman to go 
any farther. The captain of the boat said, “I have three chil- 
dren, why should I be shot?” So we laid off and listened to the 
battle for awhile, came back and sent word to Constantinople 
asking for a destroyer to come down and land one or two of 
us over there. . . . They must have all the orphans down in 
the cellars, and it must be a great job to keep the poor little 
things under cover. 

It was a sight to see the fires burning last night. We counted 
seven villages burning all about Bardazag, and for three days the 
refugees from these villages have been pouring in. At least 
two thousand new refugees are here. The people from one 
village came in, and the place was not burned, so the Greek 
troops went out there with their machine guns, made trenches, 
and the refugees, thinking this a good protection, trailed back. 
The Turks, however, not dismayed, attacked and the people had 
to clear out again. 

• •••••«• 

To-day I learn that the Greeks discovered a plan for the 
starting of fires in six places, one very near the hospital. I am 
sure all the Turks here are our friends, and our only worry is 
getting mixed in the melee. 

Noon, Sunday, April loth. 

A heavy fog to-day and we can see nothing of Bardazag, but 
we can hear the guns. A Greek soldier was just here to tell 
me that they were unable to get a direct message from Mrs. 
Nickerson last night, but they would try to-day. Things are 



not just at their best now. My two American nurses are sick 
in bed, and Mrs. Nickerson cut off from us by the Nationalists. 

3:30 P. M. (same day). Enclosed find copy of Mrs. Nick- 
erson’s letter just received. 

MRS. Nickerson’s letter 


April 8, 1921. 

Well, we are having lively times, bullets whistling! One 
hit the roof of the house when we were on the balcony. They 
seem to be shooting from every side. The native teachers seem 
to be very much frightened. The people in the town moved 
down to the dock at daybreak to go to Ismid. The Greeks won’t 
allow them to do that, so this evening they moved back. Tbe 
Greek gunboat fired about six shots over the hills about 8:30 
A. M., then steamed off toward Constantiople. Here we are 
high and dry! The report is that the Greeks were getting 
ready to burn out the Turks, and the Turks “beat ’em to it.” 

I expect you can see the towns burning. Tbe Bardazag 
people know that is what will happen here, so they’re scared! 
We hear big guns over your way so deduce there must be some- 
thing doing over there too. 

While the bullets were so thick we had the kiddies in but 
now it has subsided for the time being. The citizens are armed. 
We saw many go up and join the Greek outposts this morning. 
They were fired on while going up the hill. 

We can distinctly see the Turks directly in back of our 
buildings nearly to the top of the hill. They pass along a cer- 
tain route, some leading horses, some mounted, but climb down 
quickly under fire. 

I just went out to listen to operations that seemed to have 
a fresh start and “bang” went a gun seemingly right at hand and 
the bullet came whistling right by me. 

7 :30 P. M. — The report is that the Greeks are going to 
place big guns here to our right and give it to the Turks to-mor- 

8:00 A. ]\I. April 9 — IMany Turks killed at the dock. Heavy 
guns began at 4 A. M. We are all right. The Greeks seem to 
have things well in hand. . . . Everybody on the alert. The 
children seem happy. 

6:30 P. M. — It has been a wild day, bullets flying through 


the yard, the Greeks firing from behind the wall directly in 
front of the boys’ building. The Turks answering just a short 
way up the hill. . . . The big gun down across the water has 
been shelling the place where we saw the Turks yesterday. For 
an hour it has been quiet. That has gotten to mean increased 
action later. There is one place on the road to the dock where 
everything that passes is fired on. 

• ••••••• 

This morning it was lovely at dawn. You should hear the 
birds. For a time all was still and it was hard to realize that 
death and destruction lurked in the peaceful quiet of these 
heavenly hills. 


Nobody knows what will happen to-night — the worst fear is 
fire. ... I am just writing along as things happen. They can 
tell us nothing of when we can get messages through. 

A man is taking our mail just now. We are all right. 

During the months of May, June, and July, 1921, reports 
received from Dr. Elliott contained the following passages : 

May 9, 1921. 

As the time for the annual meeting of the Medical Women’s 
National Association draws near, I am tempted to write you a 
rather concise letter in regard to our work and the importance 
of it, so that they may get a message from Turkey and perhaps 
a better idea of the importance of our work. 

Mr. Jaquith, General Director of the Near East Relief in 
Turkey, told one of the w’orkers in Constantinople that he con- 
sidered the Ismid work one of the biggest and most important 
pieces of relief work now being done in Turkey, and, as you 
know, the American Women’s Hospitals is paying the salaries 
and assuming the responsibility of all the medical work done 
in this area, which includes Derindje, Bardazag and Ismid 
regions. We have between 20,000 and 25,000 refugees in Ismid 
alone, a large boys’ orphanage at Bardazag and a girls’ orphan- 
age at Ismid. There are five thousand refugees at Derindje. 

Our work includes a 95 bed hospital, a 25 bed smallpox 
camp, a 50 bed childrens’ preventorium (which was started at 
Bardazag and had to be discontinued because the Turks and 
Greeks came into our yard to fight, and which is now being reor- 



ganized here), a weekly clinic at Derindje, a weekly clinic at 
Bardazag and a daily general clinic, children’s clinic and tri- 
weekly women’s clinic at Ismid. 

We are in close cooperation with the Greek Army and the 
Turkish civil authorities. To-day I have a conference with 
the chief medical officer of the Greek division occupying Ismid, 
so that we may do more thorough sanitary work in the refugee 
camps, 8o in number. To-morrow I have a conference with the 
Turkish city doctor about the cleaning up of the city, which is 
one of the filthiest it has been my lot to see in the Near East. 
The American Women’s Hospitals has undertaken the respon- 
sibility of cleaning it — it remains to be seen how successful we 
will be. 

In connection with the hospital we have a class of 17 Arme- 
nian girls all of whom were refugees during the war, and we are 
beginning to be proud of them already. Unfortunately, while 
they are girls of good family and natural refinement, they have 
had very poor educational advantages because of the war. In 
addition to their regular nurses’ classes we are giving them 
classes in reading, waiting and arithmetic. We also have what 
I consider the most important work for a woman physician in 
this country, a class in midwifery. Women will not have men 
doctors and as a consequence they are forced, even the wealthiest, 
to employ the native midwife of Turkey, who is the product of 
the darkest of dark ages. Filthy in person and in habits, they 
are repulsive beyond measure. 

If any one has a doubt of our usefulness here, one would 
only need to come to our general clinic and see the wretched 
creatures come crawling in more dead than alive. Now that 
there is active fighting on all sides of us between the Turks 
and Greeks, we get not only the wounded civilians, but many 
sick who have to wait their opportunity to come when the way 
is clear of fighting soldiers, or worse, the bandits who follow in 
their trail. 

May 16, 1921. 

The hospital which we are now taking over, was a Turkish 
hospital, then a British barracks, then a Greek barracks. It 
was as near a wreck as anything could be and still be revived. I 
have had between fifty-five and sixty men working there for 
two weeks and w'e are just beginning to see daylight. 



June I, 1921. 

Ten Americans came down for Decoration Day, so they 
were all here and I had our little ceremony for the capping of 
our class of nurses. . . . The next day we had our regular 
opening. The day was glorious and there were about a hun- 
dred of Ismid’s prominent people here. We had representa- 
tives from the Army and Navy (Greek), the Turkish mustes- 
sarif, the Turkish municipal doctor and members of the Turk- 
ish Committee. The Greek Church was represented by the 
Archbishop and the Armenian Church by the Bishop. . . . 
The height of my ambition was reached when I repeatedly 
heard from all sides the exclamation: “What cleanliness!” and 
many of them said “The Americans’ first thought is cleanliness!” 

June 23, 1921. 

The Eleventh Greek Division left this morning early and 
evidently have met their enemy at our door for there is con- 
tinuous heavy artillery firing all morning. A telephone from 
Mr. Kingsbury in Bardazag at four this morning asked for 
help to get his orphans out. Mr. Moffet went over and has not 
returned. I can’t see how he can ever get through all this 
fighting, and I am very anxious I can tell you. 

The town is jammed with refugees. The cemetery at the 
foot of our hill is simply full and they are sleeping by the side 
of the road. Just now I have sent out my native doctor to pick 
up sickly looking children and bring them to the preventorium. 
The bath water is hot, and we are having hot soup made. He 
asked me how many to bring and I told him not to count the 
beds, we’d put them on the floor. There have been about 5000 
new refugees in the last two days. 

• ••••••• 

We are bringing our smallpox camp up the hill to-day, 
which is quite a job on account of the necessary disinfection 
involved, but I don’t think it safe to leave them down there 
with the soldiers gone. 

July 4, 1921. 

The plan was for the Eleventh Division to form the left 
wing of the Brousa Front, this division crossing straight over 
on the Bardazag, Brousa Road, but the Turks met them right 
there at Bardazag, met the whole division, artillery and every- 
thing from Adebazar, Sabange and the whole Ismid front. And 



what’s more, they held them so they didn’t get by. There were 
eight gunboats in the harbor besides the Kilkis.^ All day 
Saturday and Saturday night there were great fires between 
Bardazag and Dermanderine and the big guns, and all the 
rest of it, were going at a great rate. 

Sunday morning, our little game began as was to be expected 
with only three thousand soldiers in the place. It broke out 
on all sides of us. They were fighting between here and our 
W’ater source and on the hill across from our picnic place. Soon 
the Kilkis began to shell and it shook things up I can tell 
you. They shelled on all sides and back of the town. The 
Turks had trenches at Ratched Bey’s place where we were 
working our tractor, and the shells did more plowing in one 
hour than the tractor did in a week. Wounded were being 
brought every few minutes and we had our hands full. . . . 
Mrs. Power thought she was back at Marash. 

About noon the Greeks landed three thousand marines to 
help out, and in the early evening the Commandant signalled 
the General across the Gulf that Ismid was falling and to send 
help. He came over with three regiments. Monday, we heard 
that Turks had been massacred and the General had given the 
refugees forty-eight hours to get out. By this time, we had 
refugees from Adebazar and Sabange. It looked like the whole 
world was refugees. You could hardly get through the streets. 
The cemetery and the road at the foot of the hill were jammed. 
The Turkish population was pouring down from the Turkish 
quarters, just as terrified as every one else. 

July 6, 1921. 

We have lived through the evacuation. All the Chris- 
tians fled like rats. . . . Our nice girls have fled. . . . We 
hear they are at Rodosta. . . . We are running the hospital with 
little orphan girls from the American orphanage. At first they 
were to leave, too, but it was decided for them to stay on. We 
have these girls in the laundry, scrubbing the floors, nursing 
and doing everything else. . . . They are a dandy bunch, and 
pleased as Punch to be in the hospital. 

I am the only doctor left in the place. The Kemalists haven’t 
^ Formerly the United States battleship Mississippi. 



even got a military doctor here, so I have the soldiers to look 
after too. . . . We kept the clinic running until two men 
were stabbed to death in front of the building, and another 
shot. We brought the shot one up here and fixed him up, but 
he fled with the rest the next day. . . . We had an awful time 
with the smallpox camp to keep the convalescents from running 
away. A double guard was kept on day and night. 

We have the most courteous treatment from the military 
authorities (Turkish). They are trying to protect us as much 
as possible from the “irregulars.” All our buildings on the 
outside, including the clinic buildings, have been looted, and the 
Commandant assured us that he will punish the offenders if he 
finds them. We have Nationalist guards on the place day and 
night, one of our destroyers lying in the harbor and a landing 
party up on the hill and at the orphanage, since the day of the 

• ••••••• 

I am looking forward to your visit, but the picture will be 
different than what I expected to show you. You will not see 
our nice class of girls, and I shall not be able to show you what 
a lot they have learned in such a little while. Poor dears! 
They were so happy here and tried so hard to be a credit to us. 
It was wonderful to see what hospital discipline had done for 
them in carrying them through the crisis. These girls had fled 
before the Turks, times before this, but I know they never did it 
in such a dignified way before. I told them to stay on duty 
until I told them it was time to leave. And if you had stepped 
into this hospital at any time on that last day you wouldn’t have 
known anything was wrong. I doubt if many American girls 
of seventeen, in fear of their lives and worse, would have done 
as well. 

All was quiet at Ismid when I arrived in July, 1921. 
There were no fires, sounds of strife, or bombarding. Only 
one gunboat lay at anchor, and she was the U. S. Destroyer 
Brooks. The tumult and the screaming were over. The 
people were gone. If there was any loot left, it was buried 
so deep that no one would be likely to find it for awhile. 

The Ismid massacre is said to have been an inadequate 
affair, in view of the opportunity and provocation. Some of 



the noncombatant Christians had secured arms for self- 
protection and with the connivance or help of the Greek 
soldiers might have taken reprisals for the deportations and 
massacres which had been systematically carried out against 
their people for years. But there was little time or inclina- 
tion for vicarious revenge. The Christian residents of Ismid 
fled for their lives carrying only their most precious posses- 
sions. One American woman, at considerable risk, saved 
her porcelain bath tub. 

In the good old days wTen a prize like Ismid was taken 
the soldiers were allowed three days’ looting, and old cus- 
toms are not suddenly changed, although new articles may 
be written to prove to the outside world that the rules of 
modern warfare are being observed. 

The “irregulars” (chetas, bandits), were not on the 
government payroll it was said, but military service offered 
great opportunities for privateering, and was far more 
lucrative than highway robbery in times of war. These 
chetas are interesting gentry. They accompany the army 
like jackals and vultures, gleaning along the way. From 
time immemorial refugees from falling cities have been 
suspected of swallowing the family jewels, and a thorough- 
going chetas goes through the entire length of the Intestinal 
canal of his victim. 

The Turkish regulars and “Irregulars” had fought and 
bled for Ismid, but when they entered the city there wasn’t 
an enemy left to loot, unless the Turkish residents, some of 
whom had promptly moved Into the homes and shops of 
their former neighbors, might be regarded as enemies. From 
the standpoint of victorious “irregulars” It must have been 
an empty victory. There was nothing to eat, nothing to 
drink, and not a Christian woman in the town except Ameri- 
cans, guarded by a United States destroyer. Even the loot 
had been skimmed, and there was nothing to do but make 
the best of a profitless job, and hope for better pickings in 
the future. 


Falling was no new experience for Ismid, old Nicomedia. 
Age after age, that history-making city had been falling and 
rising and the chances are it will continue to fall and rise. 
The site has been good through the centuries, and therefore, 
it has revived repeatedly under different governments, while 
many of its contemporaneous cities have disappeared from 
the earth. Diocletian had decided to remove the Eastern 
Capital of the Roman Empire to Nicomedia, but his succes- 
sor, Constantine, held to the site of Byzantium on which he 
founded the Christian city of Constantinople, dedicated to 
the Blessed Virgin. Constantine lived part of the time 
at Nicomedia and died in the suburbs of that city where the 
chetas were operating in the summer of 1921. 

With all these ups and downs, the latest fall of Ismid 
will not make much of an impression on her history chart. 
Compared with former experiences, it was not much of a 
debacle, but from the standpoint of the American Women’s 
Hospitals, it was a disastrous fall. There stood the fine 
hospital, which we were running in cooperation with the 
Near East Relief, on the inside of the Turkish lines, and the 
people it had been established to serve were on the opposite 
shore of the Sea of Marmora, greatly in need of medical 

For the first five months of 1921, we had conducted the 
medical end of the American relief work in the Ismid, 
Derindje and Bardazag regions, and, in spite of inadequate 
buildings and equipment, a large service had been carried 
for the relief of the sick. With the help of Miss Leila 
Priest, Miss Griselle McClaren, Mrs. Power and Mrs. 
Nickerson, Dr. Elliott had directed this work. A training 
class for nurses had been conducted, and although the 
people we were serving had fled from the country, our 
work was not entirely lost. In a way, it was spread broad- 
cast by the disaster. The young women belonging to the 
nurses’ training class did not suffer the usual fate of refu- 
gees. They were not obliged to live on charity in refugee 


camps for long, or submit to even greater humiliation. 
Resources within themselves had been developed, and they 
were soon called to serve the sick in the districts where fate 
had placed them. 

Medical service should be developed on a plane with the 
lives of the people it serves. If they are very poor people 
in a very poor country, their medical work should be run 
on a low financial scale. Hospitals serving unstable popula- 
tions, subject to the fortunes of war, and likely to be 
deported or forced to flee from the wrath of victorious 
armies, should be conducted In temporary quarters and 
always ready to move. This lesson at Ismid proved of 
great value In our plans for the relief of the sick among the 
Christian refugees from Anatolia, after the disaster at 
Smyrna the following year. 

The Ismid Hospital on the hill was well located and 
equipped, but somehow the picture suggested Andromeda 
Chained to a Rock. It was officially opened on May 31, 
1921, and three weeks later the evacuation of the district 
began. On June 26, the Turkish military forces occupied 
the city. This hospital overlooked the harbor within sight 
and hearing of the confusion and carnage during the battle 
and evacuation, but In spirit It stood five thousand miles 
apart, an American refuge for the sick and injured regard- 
less of race, religion or nationality. 

There they were, Turks, Greeks, Armenians and chetas, 
perhaps, hobnobbing together as though they all belonged 
to the same fraternity — and they did: the fraternity of the 
wounded. Men who had been fighting each other to the 
death, were friendly and solicitous regarding the welfare 
of their wounded enemies. Glancing down the ward, the 
whole tragic business took on a comic aspect, and one of 
the nurses referred to a Mohammedan prophecy of dire 
calamity in store for certain unworthy brothers, who were 
to be punished by passing through generations of degrada- 
tion, and sinking deeper into the abyss, until they reached 


the uttermost depths, where they were to be ruled over 
by women. The culmination of this prophecy was seemingly 
fulfilled in that hospital. This brotherhood of the wounded 
was not only ruled over by women, but Its members were so 
lost to the spirit of the prophecy that they actually liked 
the experience. 

The flight of the Christian population had left the town 
without a carpenter, blacksmith, plumber, shoemaker, 
butcher, baker or any sort of an artisan. Community life 
was difficult. Dr. Elliott was the only physician left in the 
district. Assisted by three American nurses, and a score 
of children from 10 to 14 years of age, she kept the hospital 
running and cared for all kinds and conditions of sick and 
wounded. Most of these children had prominent abdomens 
due to Improper food and malaria. This peculiarity, with 
their bare feet and smiling faces, made them look like a 
band of brownies. 

The hospital grounds were guarded by Turkish soldiers 
ostensibly to protect the property, but probably to prevent 
Greek or Armenian patients from getting away. These 
convalescents registered weakness In the arms and the knees. 
It was tnanifestly hard for them to walk. They needed 
crutches, and some of the hand hooks used by miitilles in 
France, such as Long John Silver used to wear, might 
prove useful in this emergency. 

Dressed In American pajamas, these men hobbled about 
with canes or crutches, and sometimes sat at the windows 
looking wistfully over the gulf toward Thrace. What were 
they thinking about? The width of the waters perhaps, or 
the dark of the moon. Leander swam the Hellespont at 
its narrowest point, but the Sea of Mamora was wide in 
front of Ismid. Constantinople by land might be possible, 
but soldiers surrounded the town; chetas lurked In the 
hills and for want of a better weapon a crutch might be 
worth carrying. 

The strange Turkish soldiers guarding the place did not 



inspire confidence, so a Turk, who had worked for the 
American Women’s Hospitals for several months, was 
appointed special watchman to patrol the grounds during 
the night and watch the other Turks. 

An oppressive silence brooded over the land. The night 
sounds were weird and intensified by the stillness. Our 
special watchman had a secret signal which couldn’t possibly 
remain a secret for long. Walking slowly around the build- 
ing he tapped twice on the stones with a metal-tipped cane 
every few steps, and after several hours this tapping was 
about as comforting to me as the tom-toms in the jungle 
were to the “Emperor Jones.” 

“Tap, tap I — tap, tap!” favorably Interpreted, this 
meant, all is well, all is well, “Tap, tap! — tap, tap! — Tap 
tap!” — the watchman doth protest too much! In answer 
to this thought the carrion-fed jackals yelped in the hills. 

The darkness and silence deepened. “Tap tap! — tap, 
tap!” Our Turkish watchman had just passed under the 
window when eight bells struck on the destroyer In the har- 
bor giving assurance that all was well for us. The dawn 
was breaking, and from a distant minaret above the deserted 
city of Ismid came the call of the muezzin: “La ilaha 
illa~llahu, Muhammad rasul allahi!” 





F ortunately, our plan of work anticipated complica- 
tions. This was the second complication within a year. 
Under Dr. Alfred Dewey, with reduced personnel, the hos- 
pital at Ismid was carried on for the care of the sick among 
the Turkish people. The service was small and the reduction 
in cost of operation made it possible for us to consider a 
larger field In the Caucasus. The following month, August, 
1921, Dr. Elliott was sent to Erivan, Soviet Armenia, to 
take over the medical work of the Near East Relief in that 
district, and before the end of the year every person, Amer- 
ican or native, connected with the medical or hospital end 
of this service was on the payroll of the American Women’s 

This was the district In which Dr. Elsie Mitchell and Dr. 
Clara Williams had started our medical work in cooperation 
with the Near East Relief In 1919. Meanwhile, the Ar- 
menian Republic of Erivan had been crushed by the Turk- 
ish Nationalists and Russian Communists operating to- 
gether In 1920. The Turkish Army had occupied the 
country, and, as a last resort, a Soviet Republic had been 
proclaimed. The Russian goal in the Caucasus was 
reached, and with the help of Russia and other countries 
Turkey reached her goal two years later at Smyrna. 

Health conditions In Armenia had improved somewhat 




during the year 19 19-1920, but following that brief respite, 
two foraging armies had overrun the country, massacres 
had occurred, and devastating tides of refugees had ebbed 
and flowed. A plague of refugees is worse than any 
plague, except the plague-creating plague of war responsible 
for the refugees. Absolutely destitute, these poor creatures 
must live on the country or starve. As they pass from 
place to place, they eat everything edible, burn everything 
combustible they can lay their hands on for fuel, and spread 
disease wherever they go. They are less welcome anywhere 
than a poor relation with the smallpox. 

The crops which had been planted in the spring of 1920 
by the Armenians were harvested in the fall by the Nation- 
alist Turks — Kismet! The Armenians were used to this 
sort of thing. It is part of their history. The snow was 
creeping down the slopes of Ararat. Winter was coming. 
“God have mercy on my children,” was the wail of the 
mothers throughout the land. 

The Allies and Central Powers had proclaimed peace, 
but there was no peace. The people of Armenia knew 
nothing about the policies of the great nations, but they 
knew when their homes were wrecked, their families killed, 
their crops stolen, and their children were dying of starva- 
tion. These were strong arguments. Any change would be a 
change for the better. The sufferers did not care whether 
the flag was red, white or blue. What they prayed for was 
peace — peace at any price! “Give us this day our daily 
bread,” has a meaning for people who are starving. 

The proclamation of the Soviet Republic brought about 
a sudden change. The tattered mantle of Moscow was 
thrown around the Armenian people within the borders of 
the new state. New Turkey and New Russia had nothing 
further in common in that territory. The Turks evacuated. 
“God be praised!” There could be no greater blessing. 
And this religious people under an affirmatively irreligious 
government gave thanks in the name of their Saviour and 



Redeemer. The Communist Army assisted in the establish- 
ment of the Soviet Government, and effectually quelled any 
political protests. From that time forward Moscow was 
the real capital of the country and ultimate source of au- 
thority, although the reorganization of the Russian Empire 
into the Union of Socialist Soviet Republics was not officially 
declared to the world until January, 1923. 

After generations of cruel oppression under an absolute 
autocracy, the pendulum of government, loosed by war and 
revolution, naturally swung to the opposite extreme. An 
equally absolute oligarchy was organized, committed to 
the establishment of Socialist Soviet Republics, with a 
world-wide program expressed in the slogan, “Communism 
Knows No Border!” 

When the American Women’s Hospitals took over the 
medical work at Erivan in cooperation with the Near East 
Relief, in the fall of 1921, the country was under two flags, 
the American flag and the Communist flag. The first flag 
meant food, and the second meant peace. Word had gone 
out regarding the enormous food and clothing supplies of 
the Near East Relief, and people came from every direction 
like starving cattle on the plains to feeding places. With 
the establishment of the great orphanages at Leninakan 
(formerly Alexandrople) and Erivan, there followed a 
shortage of fathers and mothers and a corresponding in- 
crease of aunts, uncles and cousins. These destitute human 
beings brought large numbers of little children to the 
orphanages, and if there was no room for them on the 
inside, they were left crying at the doors. This was their 
best chance of survival. 

The state of affairs at Erivan and Leninakan did not 
fairly represent the entire country. The sick and hungry 
flocked toward these centers of relief, while the strong and 
well remained in their own villages. In November, 1921, 
Dr. Mabel E. Elliott wrote from Erivan, Armenia, as 
follows : 



I hardly know where to begin telling you about the work 
here. As I wrote you before, it is a mess, but it isn’t going to 
be a mess six months from now if I live to tell the tale. I 
find that there are at least two hundred cases of trachoma mixed 
with the well children, and this means new cases developing 
daily. My two big problems just now are more buildings for 
hospitals, and sanitation. I am horror-stricken at the state of 
some of our places. 

• •••••••• 

To-day is Sunday, and this afternoon we go to Kanukeuy, 
a village near here which is high, and where there are some 
lovely barracks buildings which I want for favus and trachoma 
hospitals. My great desire is to get these two scourges of the 
Armenian orphanages as far removed as possible from the rest. 
The chief of staff of the local Bolshevik Government is going 
with us, and I hope to interest him in my propositions. 

My whole office force, including myself, have been in a mad 
rush ever since my arrival. Getting about looking up buildings 
takes a great deal of time. I am so anxious to get something 
that I can feel is permanent. . . . Miss Priest and Mrs. Power 
are up to their ears in work also, as you may imagine, and it 
is a great comfort to me to know that they are carrying on 
wffiile I am in the mazes of the administrative part of it. If 
you had only come up here and seen things as they were, and 
then come next year and see the improvements. 

• •••«•••• 

I cannot begin to tell you, doctor, of the misery here in spite 
of the enormous work that is being done. Since I have been 
here 852 is the lowest number of cases we have had in our 
hospitals, and yet they are dying on all corners of the city. 
Sunday afternoon we passed a dead horse by the side of the 
road, and three wretched looking human beings were sitting 
on the ground tearing the flesh off with their hands. It was 
a most repulsive sight. 

All day long we can hear the groans and wails of little 
children outside our office building in hopes we can and will 
pick them up. If the sun shines a little while they quiet down, 
and when it rains they begin again. One day the rain turned to 
snow, and it was awful to listen to them. The note of terror 
that came into the general wail was distinctly perceptible, 
although my office is upstairs and I had the windows closed. 



They well knew what a night out in the snow would mean to 
them. We are picking them up as fast as possible. You can 
see by my report how many more patients we have than beds, 
and the same holds good in the orphanages. There is no use 
crowding them in so that they will all die. We have a bread 
line for those we cannot take in on account of lack of 

Erivan, December 20, 1921. 

We have our training ciass well under way. There are 28 
girls to start with. They all go to one of Mrs. Power’s hos- 
pitals for an English class, and Miss Priest and Mrs. Power 
each have classes in nurses’ courses. Then from six to eight 
o’clock they go to the Near East Relief night school for their 
lessons in ordinary studies. All these girls are from the orphan- 
ages. They are so happy in their work. It is a pleasure to 
see them. Miss Priest and Mrs. Power are busy getting their 
uniforms in order. After three months, those who pass their 
examinations will be capped. 

• •*•••••• 

In my last letter I told you that I was about ready to move 
into two new buildings, that is, new to us. I just had them 
cleaned and looking lovely when 4,000 new troops came in 
and they were obliged to billet their soldiers in them. You 
can’t imagine what they look like now. They have promised 
to turn them over to me soon, in fact one to-night and one in 
two days. Meanwhile I am about to put 315 cases of trachoma 
that we found in the orphanages into another building, and we 
have opened a hospital at Etchmiadzin for children who have 
been picked up off the streets in a frightful condition. It is 
rather a hit and miss affair, but it is better than having them 
die on the streets and in every corner. 

The hospital referred to above was the same one which 
had been conducted by Dr. Clara Williams with the help of 
Miss Frances Witte in 1919-20, during the brief existence 
of the Republic of Erivan, the Armenian National Republic. 
This work was given up by the Americans just before the 
Turks took that district In the autumn of 1920. In Decem- 
ber, 1921, after the establishment of the Armenian Soviet 
State, this hospital was opened again by Dr. Elliott. The 


reports made to the New York office, over a year apart, by 
different persons, are strikingly similar. Under Dr. 
Williams the Etchmiadzin Hospital had become a place to 
live and get well in, but during the Turkish military occupa- 
tion it had promptly reverted to its pre-American status, 
and had become a “place better to die in than the streets.” 
The rapid growth and development of the American 
Women’s Hospitals’ service in the Caucasus continued to 
be shown in letters received from Dr. Elliott, our director 
in that country. 

January 5, 1922. 

For a time you will see a great increase in the number of 
patients. This is because we are getting all the trachomas, 
scabies and favus out of the orphanages. ... I am talking pre- 
vention a lot and hoping to get the orphanages in shape so that 
we won’t have so much sickness. 

We have had ten cases of cerebro-spinal meningitis and not 
one drop of anti-meningococcus serum. ... I have had to 
quarantine two of the orphanages on account of meningitis. 

Taking over the medical work for the whole of Armenia 
is certainly a thrilling thought. ... If you cannot take on the 
whole work, the Alexandrople unit is much larger, and we 
might change another year and take that over. 

Alexandrople, March 7, 1922. 

I have had my talk with Captain Yarrow, and after two 
days to consider and do some figuring, have decided to accept 
his proposition, which is to give up the Erivan district and 
take on the Alexandrople area. He asked me to get off at 
Alexandrople on my way back from Tiflis, and look over 
things, and serve on a committee to consider the problem of 
trachoma for the whole Caucasus area. We have decided to 
make Alexandrople a trachoma center. All the trachoma-free 
children will be sent to other stations, and the trachoma cases 
brought here. 

When I tell you, doctor, that w’e have at least 15,000 cases 
of trachoma under our care, you will see that the American 



Women’s Hospitals has undertaken a big job. We have here at 
the present time a trachoma specialist, Dr. Uhls, and a very 
good surgeon. Dr. Blythe, and I vi'ill do the medical work. 
There are three nurses (American) at this post (Seversky), one 
at Polygon Post and two at Kazachy Post. I will bring down 
both my nurses from Erivan and may transfer one from here 
if we find we don’t need these. However, I will start imme- 
diately to establish our training school for nurses on a proper 
basis, and it will take all one nurse’s time for the present. . . . 
Our Erivan class of nurses has just been capped. 

Erivan, March 17, 1922. 

The Alexandrople work will be tremendous when we get it 
organized; it is almost unbelievable the “medical factory” that 
will be in operation. ... I am personally examining all the 
children’s eyes for trachoma here, as we find the native doctor’s 
tendency is to give the child the benefit of the doubt and call 
the case negative when the trachoma is slight. To-morrow I 
am going to Daratchitchak to examine the eyes of children and 
arrange the medical program, for we shall be sending children 
there soon, and I want to be sure that they are all trachoma- 

• •••••••• 

It is an awful job getting these children changed about. We 
have sent 400 trachoma cases to Alexandrople; cleaned and 
fumigated two buildings, and made them safe for trachoma- 
free children. ... In this way we shall gradually get all the 
trachoma-free children out of Alexandrople and have only 
clean cases here. Then the terrific job will begin of getting 
enough personnel to treat thousands and thousands of eyes 
daily at Alexandrople. 

Alexandrople, June 17, 1922. 

I will make an attempt to get this out to you at Constantino- 
ple. I am sure your decision to come at this time is Heaven- 
sent. I have never needed you so badly. I do hope you will 
be along very soon. . . . Perhaps word can be gotten to me, 
and I can meet you at Batoum. 

Yes, I was Heaven-sent at that time. The American 
Women’s Hospitals was in need of a special service which 
I was equipped to render. At Constantinople I joined a 



group of relief workers who were waiting to get Into the 
Caucasus and rejoicing In the good fortune which had kept 
them waiting at such an interesting place. The delay was 
due to a recent ruling of the Soviet Federation of Georgia, 
Armenia and Azerbaijan, In accordance with which all the 
American personnel of relief organizations should be subject 
to search on entering and leaving Soviet territory. The 
Near East Relief was resisting this ruling, which canceled 
the privilege of coming and going without search which 
American workers enjoyed. Pending the decision regarding 
this question, Mrs. Marian P. Crulkshank, an A. W. H. 
nurse, and I, were requested to wait at Constantinople, 
although we belonged to another organization and had no 
objection whatever to being searched 

Twenty-five or thirty Americans from different states, 
the majority of whom were interested in the home end of 
the Near East Relief work, were also waiting. Some of 
these were inclined to defend the new ruling of the Soviet 
Government. Why should American personnel enjoy 
special privileges? All travelers entering the United States 
or passing any of the European borders are subject to 
search. My baggage had been searched by the custom 
officials of France, Switzerland, Italy, Yugo-Slavla, Bulgaria 
and Turkey. One search, more or less, did not matter in 
the least. 

Mrs. Crulkshank had had a larger experience. For over 
a year she had been taking our hospital supplies across the 
Serbian border from Greece, and she knew something about 
the border business. There was nothing for us to fear. 
We were not carrying any political messages into the coun- 
try, or expecting to bring out any of the crown jewels or 
other valuables interdicted by the laws of “Bololand.” 

Just as we had decided not to wait any longer, but to take 
the first ship crossing the Black Sea, a telegram announcing 
a favorable decision regarding the controversy was received, 
and everybody embarked for Batoum. The “Bolos” had 



backed down. Hurrah for our side! The privilege of 
coming and going without search was not to be taken from 
American relief workers, and we began to reconsider the 
matter of the crown jewels. 

The great days were over. The days when the first fam- 
ilies of Russia were trading their heirlooms for bread, and 
Constantinople made Treasure Island look like a poor 
farm. Since those days, Sinbad and other sailors have been 
able to find real princesses in distress, selling wines In res- 
taurants and other resorts, and In many Instances actually 
dignifying Mrs. Warren's Profession. 

The ethics, angles and phases of the complex business 
which had resulted in the decision of the Soviet Govern- 
ment to search American relief workers, were the chief 
topics of conversation during our trip across the Black Sea, 
and some of the visitors wondered why great philanthropic 
pawnshops had not been established by Americans in Con- 
stantinople to protect refugees from profiteers of all kinds. 

Soviet money was cheap, but treasures of gold, platinum, 
precious stones, rugs, sables and Persian lamb, sold at par 
In the markets of the world. This was real wealth. Under 
the law, all persons leaving Soviet territory were required 
to declare their collections, lay them before a customs com- 
mittee for valuation, and pay an export duty. 

The right of search In this connection was manifestly a 
debatable question, and the debate was waxing warm one 
fine morning on the Black Sea, which was blue, when a 
little Greek gunboat that looked like a plaything came 
whizzing through the water, held up our big ship, and 
gave us a demonstration regarding the right of search in 
another connection. The Greco-Turkish war was going 
on and the Greeks wanted to know if there was any war 
material for the Turks in the cargo. 

We had brought the Arabian Nights and the Three 
Musketeers to read en route, but these were dull, old- 
fashioned stories compared with those circulating on that 



ship, especially the thrilling tale of the “Czar’s Cigarette 
Case.” The final chapter regarding the adventures of 
D’Artagnan, intrusted with the recovery of the missing 
jewel from the necklace of the Queen of France, had long 
since been written and read by the world, but the story of 
the “Czar’s Cigarette Case” was current, and any person 
on our ship might be personally concerned with the next 

The Grand Duke Nicholas, so the story ran, had given 
a platinum cigarette case studded with jewels, and bearing 
the Imperial monogram, to His Majesty the Czar during 
the days of his absolute power. This priceless treasure, 
which had been passed to a faithful attendant at the time 
of the exile of the Royal Family, was afterward brought 
to the Caucasus by a Russian refugee and bartered for food. 
Finally It fell Into the fair hands of an American relief 
worker, and the Soviet police had been instructed to prevent 
its passage over the border. 

The latest chapter of this unwritten romance had just 
reached Constantinople. An innocent looking package had 
been passed to an American girl leaving Tiflis to be deliv- 
ered to an innocent seeming person at Constantinople. In 
repacking her handbag before reaching Batoum, this girl 
opened the package and was shocked to find herself In pos- 
session of the “Czar’s Cigarette Case.” She was utterly 
unequal to the situation. Visions of the cheka overwhelmed 
her, and instead of seizing the greatest opportunity of her 
life by the forelock, she wrapped up the treasure and sent it 
back to the person who had given It to her. 

Such an anti-climax! The spirit of adventure groaned 
aloud on the deck of our Black Sea freighter, and several 
quiet souls began formulating plans in case a similar oppor- 
tunity presented Itself to them. Even Mrs. Crulkshank 
felt that her sister in service had exhibited a lamentable 
lack of enterprise In a great emergency. 

In addition to her duties as surgical nurse at our Veles 


Hospital in Southern Serbia, Mrs. Cruikshank had been 
acting as special transportation agent for the American 
Women’s Hospitals, when large shipments of supplies were 
being brought from the port of Salonica, Greece, over 
the border to our district in Serbia. She had a genius 
for sociability which transcended the limitations of lan- 
guage. She couldn’t speak Greek or Serbian, but her eyes, 
hands and entire muscular an 3 nervous system were elo- 
quent, and her suitcase was redolent of cigarettes. In the 
Balkans and near eastern countries the cigarette is the 
conventional symbol of good-fellowship, and this open 
sesame had facilitated the passage of freight cars full of 
hospital supplies across a border with a world record for 
unpleasant incidents. 

“Look who’s here !” the Miloshes, Alexanders, Xeno- 
phons and Aristotles would exclaim in their different lan- 
guages on their respective sides of the border. “Clear the 
track!” and her cars would move through without the 
slightest difficulty, whereas, if we sent a Serb across the 
border Into Greece to bring in our supplies, there was always 
the possibility of starting a war. 

That woman’s confidence In the socializing Influence of 
the noxious weed was extremely disconcerting to a certain 
total abstainer of her intimate acquaintance. Mrs. Cruik- 
shank had had no experience with the Bolsheviks, but she 
felt sure they would respond to rational treatment, and she 
declared that if she got her hands on the “Czar’s Cigarette 
Case” she would fill It with good cigarettes and go out of 
the country passing them to the inspectors as she went up 
the gangplank. 

He who laughs first Is sure of his laugh and, fortunately, 
we had had our laugh before we reached Batoum. Yes, 
they had agreed to continue the exemption of American per- 
sonnel from search, and had signed articles to that effect, 
but they had changed their minds. According to our stand- 
ards this was outrageous, but our standards do not apply to 



Eastern peoples, any more than their standards apply to 
Western peoples. Their customs are not our customs; 
their calendars are not our calendars; their religion is not 
our religion; their alphabet is not our alphabet and their 
language is not our language. We unconsciously violate 
their rules of behavior most honored by observance, and 
they unconsciously violate the customs by which we live and 
maintain order. 

At Batoum we learned that everybody was to be thor- 
oughly searched. In order to avoid complications, it was 
suggested that all written communications which might be 
interpreted as having a political bearing, and anything that 
could be considered contraband should be left on the ship 
and sent back to Constantinople. 

For three years I had been receiving reports from the 
Caucasus regarding the effects of war, famine and pestilence 
upon the population; descriptions of diseases ravaging the 
country, together with plans for wholesale treatment, and 
projects for salvaging a generation of orphans. In my 
mind’s eye, the country was a barren waste, and I was under 
the impression that the surviving population was living in 
complete helplessness, wretchedness and dependence upon 
American charity. 

This picture was modified in some respects by my trip 
through the Caucasus. We did not travel on a freight train, 
or on the “Maxim Gorki’’ with the proletariat. People 
were not packed in the aisles like herrings, sitting on the 
top of the train, or on the steps. In the early days of the 
Russian revolution when Maxim Gorki was at the head of 
the National Transportation System, there had been a 
general proletariat picnic. In the first flush of ownership, 
the people naturally wanted to ride on their trains, and all 
they had to do was to get aboard. The system ran down 
rapidly and stopped. It was reorganized, but the name 
“Maxim Gorki” is forever identified with the world’s best 
literature and worst transportation system. The most 



dilapidated train in any part of Russia is waggishly dubbed 
the “Maxim Gorki,” especially by the good folks who went 
a-traveling on their trains and had to get off in the snowy 
mountains and gather limbs of trees and other combustibles 
in order to create enough steam to get home. 

The “special” American train was well appointed for 
that country. The private car of the Near East Relief 
general director, which had formerly been the private car 
of the Grand Duke Nicholas, bearing his coat of arms and 
his royal chef, was attached to the train and occupied by 
some of the leaders in the Near East Relief and their guests 
from the United States. The country through which we 
passed appeared barren in some parts, but wonderfully fer- 
tile and productive in others. We were greatly impressed 
by the ranges of hills, providing rich pasture, and by the 
beauty of the woods with wild hydrangeas blooming in 
thickets as the rhododendron blooms in our western moun- 

Most of the relief work which had been carried on at 
Tiflis in 1919-20 had been discontinued, but it was a con- 
venient administrative center and half-way house for Amer- 
icans en route to Leninakan and Erivan. Food and clothing 
were still being distributed, orphanage work done, and one 
physician, assisted by native nurses, was conducting clinics. 

In the evening we visited an amusement park and had 
difficulty getting in on account of the crowd at the gate. 
This resort had been nationalized. The entrance fee was 
low, and the games of chance and other amusements in 
which human beings take delight were being conducted by 
the government with the object of gratifying the national 
taste for gambling, while preventing the evils which are 
inevitable when such places are conducted for private profit. 

The entertainments were along the lines which had pre- 
vailed before the war. And in regard to music and dancing, 
either the proletariat government was not catering to popu- 
lar taste, or popular taste was very high. A Georgian 



ballet, wild, defiant and colorful as the country, was pre- 
sented. The audience seemed enchanted and temperament- 
ally in accord with the music and motion. We were amazed. 
How could people who had suffered so much exhibit such 
vitality and spirit? This was no new thing. Music and 
dancing was, perhaps, the greatest outlet for the sublimated 
spirit of freedom in all the Russias under the Czars. 

The aims of New Russia are affirmatively different from 
the aims of Old Russia, but her methods of procedure and 
enforcement are much the same. New Russia and New 
Turkey are chips off the old blocks. They may be committed 
to the principles of progress, freedom and justice for all 
the world, but anybody with a plan differing in detail from 
the official formula had better express it in music. 

Strange games of fortune were running under the trees. 
Stacks of money (rubles, about a billion to the dollar) 
were piled up in front of the players, who were demonstrat- 
ing thrills theoretically typical of Monte Carlo, although 
they couldn’t possibly lose more than thirty cents in real 
money if they played until morning. 

We had heard of the physical perfection of the Geor- 
gians, and the people in that park were good-looking. The 
women dressed like women in any western European or 
American city, but with shoes so short that they looked 
horse-footed, were not so attractive as some of the men in 
Russian or Georgian costume. There was one particularly 
striking figure. Conscious of his grace and physical perfec- 
tion, he moved from table to table, risking a few million 
rubles here and there, in a proper princely fashion. 

“Is he a Georgian Prince or Cossack General ?” I inquired 
in an undertone. 

“Georgian, I believe,” was the answer. “I think he came 
from Atlanta.” “Say Jimmie, what State are you from, 
Georgia or Texas?” 

“Neither, old man. I’m from St. Louis,” he responded. 

So, after all, it was the clothes. Our conventional suit 


for men has the best pocket system ever invented but as 
vesture for the human form divine, it cannot compare with 
the Cossack or Georgian costume. One of the American 
relief workers married a Georgian Prince, and bought him 
a new suit of clothes. He had no need for pockets, and 
when he took off his native costume and put on that suit of 
clothes, her disillusionment was complete. 


“plain tales from the hills” THE STRIKE AN EX- 


A n amazing state of affairs existed at Leninakan at the 
time of our arrival. The native workers of the Near 
East Relief, who depended somewhat upon that organiza- 
tion for their lives and the lives of their children, were on a 
strike against the organization for the reason that five of 
their number had been discharged by one of the American 
directors, Mr. B. D. MacDonald. This was in direct contra- 
vention to the Soviet principle. Therefore, a strike had been 
called and was in full swing when we arrived. Under the 
Soviet scheme of things, the Union of Workers in different 
industries are supposed to run the industries. The Union 
of Workers (native) in the Near East Relief, backed by 
the government, was demanding that the five men who had 
been discharged be reinstated and the American director 

Conference after conference was held. The American 
personnel were intensely interested. It was not merely a 
matter of reinstating five Armenians and discharging an 
American director. There was a principle involved, upon 
which the world stands divided. It was a test case, which 
for a week or more was argued pro and con, not only by 
those with authority to settle it, but by the native and 
American personnel in private conversation. In the opinion 
of some of the w'orkers, an American relief organization 
should have the right to “run its own show,” while others 



argued that individuals and organizations, operating in 
foreign countries, should “play the game” in accordance 
with the laws of the land. Naturally, the Union of Workers 
and the Soviet authorities took much the same position as 
the Turks at Angora were taking regarding capitulations 
and foreign institutions in Turkey. 

Finally terms were arrived at. The five men were rein- 
stated, the American director resigned and the trouble was 
over. The Union of Workers were, of course, pleased with 
the outcome but the American personnel were far from sat- 
isfied. Some of them held that the first American Soviet 
had been, at least, partially established, while others said, 
“Pshaw! There are Soviets all over the United States. 
In many of the big industries and public service corporations 
the workers, including the managers, are organized for 
mutual benefit.” 

The Union of Workers, backed by the Government, had 
won, but not without concessions, in witness whereof a 
mandate had been signed — another covenant of Ararat for 
time to test. The Americans were doing a great work in 
child salvage, education, medical service, physical and indus- 
trial training, and scientific farming, including engineering. 
Public improvements, such as roads, bridges, streets and 
systems of irrigation, were being constructed in accordance 
with their plans, and laborers, people who would otherwise 
be hungry and naked, were being paid in American food 
and old clothing. 

The Soviet Government had placed at the command of 
the Near East Relief four large systems of military bar- 
racks, containing approximately 250 substantial stone build- 
ings, 36,000 acres of land, rent free, on which to develop 
agricultural colonies, and 16,000 acres of grazing land for 
the development of dairying and animal Industry. Natu- 
rally the leaders In the government were anxious to have 
the Americans stay on the job, but not at the price of 
divided authority. 


1 16 

As a geographical expression, and to a large extent as 
a religious entity, Armenia has survived for almost two 
thousand years under one outside power after another. 
During the past century Persia, Turkey and Russia have 
misruled the country in turn. Following the great war came 
the tri-state federal republic, the Armenian National Re- 
public, and finally, the Armenian Soviet State, a constituent 
part of the Union of Socialist Soviet Republics. 

Shut away from the rest of the world, Armenia Is enor- 
mously interesting as a social experiment station. To be 
sure, Moscow is the ultimate source of authority, but 
Moscow is so far away that she cannot meddle overmuch 
with local affairs. In 1919-20, Miss Witte and others 
reported wholesale starvation and death In Leninakan and 
Erivan; in 1921, Dr. Elliott and others reported similar 
conditions. A year later when I was in Armenia crops 
were being harvested, and although there was danger of 
hunger during the following winter, the Union of Workers 
and the local government felt strong enough to enforce 
their principles at the risk of losing what amounted to an 
enormous American subsidy. 

The general state of affairs In Soviet Armenia was a 
revelation to me, although I had been receiving letters, 
reports and photographs from the country for three years. 
All of this material, received from physicians and nurses, 
dealt with famine, pestilence, disease and death. Taken 
together it constituted one of the most appalling stories 
of human suffering ever written. These letters and reports 
were irregular. Other reports were perhaps lost in the 
mail, or destroyed by the censors. In any case, no specific 
reference was ever made to the extraordinary experiment in 
communist government, including agriculture and child- 
raising, in which the Americans were participating on a 
large scale. 

This w'as an ideal place for such an experiment; a sort 
of social laboratory, far removed from outside influence 

Children are being raised like Spartans in the American orphanages 
of Soviet Armenia. 

American tractors sent into Soviet Armenia by the Near East Relief. 

Nationalized irrigation ditch, Soviet Armenia. 

Street Impeoventfvts, T.FyivAKAy. 

.Lhe laborers shown in these pictures were paid in American food 

and old clothing. 


and conducted under conditions especially conducive to 
success. The country was manifestly rich in natural re- 
sources; the young men at the head of the government were 
fanatical in their zeal. Communism was their religion, and 
they had but one God. A great American organization was 
carrying part of their natural burdens, supporting many of 
their children, providing food and clothing for adults, which 
was exchanged for labor on public utilities, and for the 
development of model farms and other nationalized indus- 

Communism has always seemed to me an impossible 
dream, sure to defeat its own end by discouraging individual 
enterprise. Time after time it has failed in the United 
States and elsewhere when attempted on a small scale with- 
out subsidy, but its advocates have always argued that 
subject to extraneous influences, it has never been given a 
fair chance. This form of government is certainly being 
given a fair chance in Armenia, and fostered as no other 
new government has ever been fostered, if it does not make 
a conspicuous success, there must be something wrong with 
the system as applied to human life in its present stage of 

The men at the head of the Armenian Soviet Government 
in 1922 were not the dreamy idealists we read about, but 
young Armenian university and business men, and Arme- 
nians are said to have a genius for business. There is an 
adage in near eastern countries to the effect that a Jew 
can out-trade a Turk, a Greek a Jew, an Armenian a Greek, 
and this may apply In the business of running one state in 
a Soviet Union, as well as In Individual affairs. 

There were two kinds of Bolsheviks in the Caucasus, 
“Reds and Radishes.” The Reds were red all through and 
the radishes were red outside and white Inside. The “rad- 
ishes,” currying favor among unconverted Americans with 
one hand and serving the Soviet with the other, did not hold 
the big jobs. The high officials served but one master, and 



some of the Americans working with them frankly stated 
that, judged by results achieved In two years, Communism 
was the best form of government that country had ever had. 

In the “New Near East” for November, 1922, an article 
appeared under the caption, “Repopulating the Garden of 
Eden,” by Mr. William A. Biby, containing the following 
paragraphs : 

Modern America using waters which fed the Garden of 
Eden sounds like another of those Arabian Nights yarns which 
originated around this fortieth meridian east, centuries ago, 
but I have seen the first dirt turned which will mean American 
reclamation of 120,000 acres of cotton, rice and grain land, 
with the aid of the Garden of Eden river. 

The Near East Relief, which is backing this irrigation 
project, proposes not only to provide work for refugees with 
the construction, but has obtained government consent to the 
permanent partition later of the reclaimed land among the boys 
who are contemplating marriage and settling down to the agri- 
cultural development of the country. 

The irrigation project will take water from the old Araxes 
River, the upper end of which, historians contend, was one 
of the borders and supply sources of the Garden of Eden pros- 
perity. By rebuilding old irrigation canals and cutting some new 
life-giving streams, America will restore scores of abandoned 
fields. In addition she will reclaim virgin soil that, for want 
of water, is fast tending toward the same kind of desert which 
now separates Armenia and the Holy Land, once a populous, 
productive region. Refugees will do the work for ten cents’ 
worth of grits, American dehydrated corn, a day, and a few 
American old clothes from time to time. 

Dr. Elliott and I inspected the orphanages and hospitals 
together, and as the days passed I became more and more 
impressed with Armenia as a social experiment station, an 
Isolated laboratory in which the Armenians and Americans 
were conducting an important experiment in the commu- 
nistic scheme of life. 


I have visited communistic homes for children in Mos- 
cow, but they were not like those in Leninakan and Erivan. 
The Moscow management lacked money and method. In 
the central health department of the Union of Socialist 
Soviet Republics, I saw an artistic health exhibit with plans, 
specifications and a fine program, all on paper. In the Ar- 
menian Soviet State such a program was being put into 
actual operation. American money and efficiency, and Ar- 
menian tenacity of life and purpose, is a strong combination. 
Give that combination one generation and the means to 
carry on, and we shall see what we shall see. But one thing 
is certain — there will be a lesson in communism to lay before 
the world. 


“the medical factory” A CATTLE COUNTRY — BIG 


T he medical work in connection with the Near East 
Relief program was cooperative, and a wonderful 
work it was. The Government supplied the buildings, the 
Near East Relief repair service, equipment and supplies, and 
the American Women’s Hospitals provided personnel, pay- 
ing the salaries of all persons, native and American, working 
in the hospitals, or In any way connected with the medical 
end of this service. There were orphanage hospitals. Isola- 
tion pavilions for contagious diseases, camps for tuberculosis 
and special hospitals for eye diseases. Including the trachoma 
hospital at the “orphan city” of Leninakan under Dr. R. 
T. Uhls, a surgical service under Dr. R. O Blythe and a 
training class for nurses in which over a hundred students 
were enrolled. 

Reports regarding the number of children in the orphan- 
ages and hospitals, for all of whom we were medically re- 
sponsible at that time, are somewhat conflicting. The Near 
East Relief report to Congress for the year 1922 gives the 
number as approximately 25,000. In an article published 
in 1925, Dr. Uhls states that there were 40,000 children 
in the orphanages and hospitals of Armenia, and In the pre- 
face of “Beginning Again at Ararat,” signed by Dr. Mabel 
E. Elliott, the following statement appears: 

I went to Ismid for the American Women’s Hospitals, with 
a staff chosen, equipped and paid by them, to open and manage 




a hospital for which the Near East Relief furnished all supplies. 
Later the American Women’s Hospitals sent me to the Cau- 
casus to take over, for them, a larger share of the medical work 
of the Near East Relief. This association of the small, spe- 
cialized organization, with the large general one, proved so 
satisfactory that before I left the Caucasus my organization, 
made entirely by American women and employing only women 
in all executive positions, was handling the whole medical work 
of the Near East Relief in the Caucasus, a work involving the 
care of 40,000 orphan children, all of whom were at one time 

My own observation leads me to believe that the lower 
figure was nearer right, but in any case, order had come 
out of chaos. Hospitals were conducted at Kazachy, Poly- 
gon and Seversky Posts and unbelievable numbers of treat- 
ments were given daily at the “medical factory,” which was 
running at capacity, regulated by the clock, calendar and 
bugle call. 

Leninakan might better have been named the “trachoma 
city” than the “orphan city.” All the people in that country 
whose children had eye diseases tried to get them into the 
orphanages at Leninakan, where they would get food, edu- 
cation and proper treatment. It was not possible to tell 
whether a child was an orphan or not, but it was possible 
to diagnose trachoma, and practically all the children in 
the orphanages and hospitals of Leninakan had trachoma. 

The eye work was under the direction of Dr. Uhls, and 
his system of wholesale treatment was nothing less than 
marvelous from the standpoint of efficiency. Reports show- 
ing hundreds of thousands of treatments were not typo- 
graphical errors. Thousands of children with trachoma 
passed through the clinics daily, almost as fast as a line of 
people can pass through a subway registering gate. The 
work was partly automatic, each child picking up his appli- 
cator as he moved down the line toward the physician or 
nurse, by whom his eyelids were deftly turned back and 
treated. This process required only a few seconds for each 

This is not a Russian peasant, but an ex- 
pert American farmer, head of the animal 
industry and dairying center, Djalal-Oghli, 
Soviet Armenia. 


Cattle on the plains of Armenia. 



Djalal-Oghll, had formerly belonged to a member of the 
Russian royal family. The Ptolemys, Bourbons and Ro- 
manoffs did not count the cost of the things they wanted. 
This royal estate had been assigned by the Soviet Govern- 
ment to the Near East Relief for the development of a 
model dairying and animal industry center, and I doubt 
if there Is a better place for this purpose in the whole world. 

Labor was not a problem In connection with this under- 
taking. It was available at the Ptolemy and Romanoff rate, 
the rate that made the building of the pyramids possible, 
but there was a fundamental difference. The laborers were 
now supposed to be building up their common inheritance, 
and that of their children, instead of the inheritance of their 
kings and masters. Tractors and other farm machinery 
had been sent from the United States, fine cattle imported 
from Switzerland, modern dairy machinery was to be 
Installed, and a power plant was being built in the depths 
of Big Demon Canon — another wonder of that world. 

Big Demon River named itself. It is a turbulent stream 
at the bottom of a narrow chasm, four hundred feet deep, 
cut In the level plateau. The brink of this cleft is apparent 
only at close range. Many lives have been sacrificed to 
the fury of Big Demon, snorting, tossing his white mane 
and pawing the boulders In the bed of the canon. But his 
wild days were almost done. He was about to be harnessed 
and his great strength used to furnish light and power for 
his masters. 

Our ride through the mountains and along the rim of 
Big Demon Canon was a thrilling experience, but our 
special and particular thrill was meeting Dr. Graff with the 
A. W. H. insignia on the front of her hat, and seeing the 
little ones she was caring for In that out of the way corner 
of the earth. The American Women’s Hospitals had gone 
far and done well In the few years of Its existence. 





‘‘T JNCLE America Sees It Through, or, Seeing Is Believ- 

^ ing,” a remarkable photoplay, was being filmed in 
Soviet Armenia at the time of our visit. All the children 
from the orphanages were mobilized for this picture. In 
Leninakan there were perhaps fifteen or twenty thousand 
children housed at the three different posts, several miles 
apart, which had formerly been used as military barracks by 
Russian soldiers. The making of this picture was an ex- 
hausting task, even for those who rode in automobiles, and 
the children had to walk. 

“Uncle America” was a Near East worker on the home 
service end. Had he been born two decades later, there 
might have been another star in the movie firmament. He 
never had been an actor, and he didn’t want to be one, but 
there wasn’t another man among the Americans available 
who could successfully register philanthropy. He looked 
the part, and I believe he was the part. There are good, 
bad and indifferent uncles, and “Uncle America” was a 
good uncle. For the sake of the children, he was willing 
to be an actor, or Santa Claus, and he didn’t care whether 
they were Armenian, Greek, Russian or Turkish children. 
Poor little kiddies ! They didn’t select the part of the world 
into which they were to be born. That was their bad luck, 
and as soon as they were old enough to realize the mistake, 
they were all keen on correcting it, and getting to the United 
States without loss of time. 



The moving picture corps motored from place to place 
in order to get the special features of the story, every detail 
of which was carefully pre-arranged. But the big job was 
done on the parade ground at Leninakan, formerly used for 
military drills. Day after day, the children were assembled 
for practice on this great square. There was a pulpit in 
front of the Russian Church facing the grounds, in which 
a priest, in picturesque vestments, was to be “shot” blessing 
the children. When the stage was finally set, and the chil- 
dren at attention, after days of intensive training, the priest 
ascended the pulpit and “registered” in accordance with 
instructions. “Shoot!” came the startling command, and it 
is a good thing the poor old man did not understand our 
language, for even those of us who knew what it was all 
about, were relieved to see him descending from the pulpit 
quite uninjured, with a childlike smile on his venerable 

The endurance of the children was beyond understanding. 
About five thousand little boys, none of whom were more 
than eight years old, lived at Polygon Post, where I was 
staying. They were perfect little Spartans. Their rations 
were simple, containing the proper proportions of the dif- 
ferent kinds of food necessary for normal development. 
Their lives were absolutely regular. They arose, ate, went 
to school, to work, and to bed by the sound of the bugle. 

Polygon Post was five miles from the parade ground, 
and these little tikes walked in their bare feet, drilled most 
of the day in the hot sun, without food and with very little 
water, and marched back in the evening as chipper as though 
nothing had happened. I thought surely some of them 
would be sick, but they seemed to enjoy the experience, 
which had no bad effect whatever. 

Groups of visitors were always watching the children 
assembled from the different posts drilling in preparation 
for the picture. Companies under their own leaders were 
so well trained that they marched and counter-marched. 



forming the most intricate figures with little apparent effort. 
On one occasion, the question of what was to become of 
these children was discussed by a group of American spec- 
tators. They would, of course, be engaged in different 
industries, particularly the basic industry, farming, and they 
would undoubtedly exercise a safe and sane influence in an 
unsafe and insane environment. This was the stock argu- 
ment, but some of the American personnel, who had lived 
in the country long enough to develop a pink tint, main- 
tained that it was none of our business what the children 
did when they grew up. We had not asked what was to 
become of the French children we had cared for after the 
war, or the German or Austrian children. We were not 
asking why Turkish students in American schools in Asia 
Minor were so partial to engineering. Why should we ask 
what was to become of the children in Soviet Armenia? 

A few days later the orphanage boy scouts were reviewed 
at Erivan, They wore shoes and a good many of them 
shaved regularly. In perfect formation they marched down 
the street, and we understood instantly why the Turks did 
not favor Armenian boy scouts, and why they did favor 
Turkish boy scouts. 

As the first few hundreds passed, we felt that they were 
a picked company. They were. Life had picked the most 
enduring. The others had died. On they came, and came, 
and still they came. They were manifestly proud of their 
performance, and well they might be. The question of 
their placement was raised again. The answer was obvious. 
Their future was bound up in the future of Russia. They 
were almost ready for service. All some of them needed 
was a red star on the front of their caps. 

No group of children in the world are better prepared 
for communistic life than these children raised like Spar- 
tans in the American orphanages of Armenia. They have 
been communists ever since they began to eat three times 



a day. Many of them remember no other life. In a 
land of illiteracy, they are well educated. They know the 
languages of the East and the West. Especially trained in 
industries conducted for the benefit of the group, these 
children are not only physically and mentally, but psychologi- 
cally equipped for service in the Union of Socialist Soviet 

Mount Ararat is a grim, unsmiling mountain in a tragic 
setting, but through its connection with the story of the 
flood, it has helped to furnish more smiles for mankind 
than all the other mountains on the face of the earth. What 
would the smile makers do without Noah? A cartoonist 
without the ark and the animals would be sadly handi- 
capped. The power of the funny page has somewhat over- 
come the majesty of this mountain so far as Americans are 
concerned, and its frowning aspect does not always check 
facetious comments, which are usually colored by the experi- 
ences of the commentators. 

Old Ararat in a smiling mood. 



But Ararat did not frown upon us. He was not in a 
frowning mood. Strangers from the north, south, east, 
and west and out of the Land of Nod, had usually come 
for damage. No wonder Ararat frowned. But this seed 
of Japheth returning to the original field from over the 
sea, and turning the Garden of Eden into a temporary Hol- 
lywood, had surely come for good. Looking out over the 
traditional holdings of Adam and Eve, where a plan to 
make the waters flow regardless of the weather, an Amer- 
ican irrigation system was being installed for the Soviet 
State, this patriarchal old mountain seemed to smile at 
“Uncle America,” and the rest of us registering our better 
selves in connection with a great work for the relief of 
suffering. Even little Ararat perked up out of the clouds, 
and seemed to be taking an interest in these strange things 
happening under the sun. 

All the American visitors and personnel were entertained 
by the Government on the day before our departure. There 
was a reception at the “White House” followed by a 
theatrical performance and concert, and finally a dinner 
in the evening. 

The President of the Federation of Georgia, Armenia 
and Azerbaijan, the members of the Economic Council, and 
other officers of the Soviet Government, received us in the 
official reception room, which had formerly been used by 
the representatives of the Russian Empire. The pictures of 
the Czar, Czarina, and members of the royal family, had 
been replaced by those of Lenin, Marx, Trotsky and other 
men, but I looked in vain for the picture of the martyr, 
Rosa — what was her name? I have forgotten already. 
I wonder if it pays to be a martyr. 

The theatrical performance and concert was manifestly 
an exhibition of native culture for the benefit of the Amer- 
icans, and it certainly was edifying. First they sang the 
Internationale and they put so much temperament into it. 

Boy Scouts, Soviet Armenia, 

swimmin hole made by three water buffaloes damming a small stream 
on the plateau between Erivan and I.eninakan. 

Armenian Women, 


that we could feel the meaning although we did not under- 
stand their language : 

Arise you pris’ners of starvation ! Arise ye wretched of the earth, 
For justice thunders condemnation, a better world s in birth. 

The children at the orphanages had sung the Star Spangled 
Banner for the American visitors and we were thrilled. 
They sang It In our language as a performance for our 
entertainment. But when those people sang the Interna- 
tionale they sang it as the Germans sings, Deutschland Uher 
Alles, and the French sing The Marseillaise. 

The dinner was the crowning event of the day. There 
was plenty of good food, stirring speeches and an excellent 
Interpreter. As an introduction, the band played the Inter- 
nationale and we all stood at respectful attention, just as 
we would have done In any country while listening to the 
national hymn. 

The President of the Economic Council, a youth conse- 
crated to Communism, delivered an address of welcome sup- 
plemented by an impassioned exposition of the living princi- 
ples of the U.S.S.R. (Union of Socialist Soviet Republics), 
after which the band played the Internationale and we 
all stood at respectful attention again. Mr. Charles E. 
Vickrey, the guest of honor, talked of universal brother- 
hood and the work of the Near East Relief, and the band 
repeated the Internationale while we all stood at attention 
as before. Taking their texts from Lenin, the Soviet repre- 
sentatives spoke with faith and fervor. Their attitude 
seemed paradoxical. Disavowing religion, their creed was 
the Golden Rule — the soul of Communism. With the help 
of God, It was Intimated, this principle had been preached 
long enough. Without the help of God, the Communists 
proposed to put it into practice the world around. 

After each speech, American or Soviet, the band played 
the Internationale and we all responded respectfully 



whether we wanted to or not The Bolsheviks were beam- 
ing. Their hymn had been practiced on local audiences and 
it had never failed to exalt the spirit of Communism. This 
was the first opportunity of trying it on so large a company 
of outsiders. At least fifty Americans were present. In 
addition to field personnel, there were Near East home 
workers from many of the states between New York and 
California, and to see them moving up and down to the 
tune of the Internationale was an inspiring spectacle to 
the Communists, symbolic of the Movement In the United 
States, Canada, Mexico, and all the mother countries, 
including England, France, Germany, Italy, Spain and the 
Irish Free State. 

Music hath charms. But I could not listen to America 
(tune, God Save the King) or to the hymn of the Sein 
Fein Republic, six times In succession without developing 
ptomains of fatigue. There were at least twelve speakers 
and I was the last. The Soviet representatives seemed 
particularly interested in what I had to say, although I was 
merely telling the story of the work of the American 
Women’s Hospitals in their own territory. This was the 
only field In which we did not negotiate directly with gov- 
ernment officials, and, for this and divers reasons, the work 
did not seem like our work in other countries. 

“Bravo! Bravo! Bravo!’’ cried the Bolsheviks, time after 
time, and especially when I sat down. — “Hope springs eter- 
nal In the human breast!’’ Surely those musicians would 
play the “Star Spangled Banner” for a change and as a 
farewell courtesy to their American visitors. — But “Com- 
munism knows no border.” The band struck the Interna- 
tionale and we all stood at respectful attention until the 
last note had died away, after which we departed In peace. 





A FEW days later, Dr. Elliott and I left the Caucasus. 

iWe were both expecting to attend the Second General 
Conference of the Medical Women’s International Asso- 
ciation at Geneva, during the first week of September 1922. 
Representatives from seventeen countries answered the roll 
call at that convention. Among the delegates and officers 
from the United States were Dr. Esther P. Lovejoy, Presi- 
dent of the Medical Women’s International Association, 
Dr. Eli za M. Mosher, Honorary President of the Medical 
Women’s National Association, Dr. Grace N. Kimball, 
President of the Medical Women’s National Association, 
Dr. Elizabeth B. Thelberg of Vassar College and Dr. 
Sue Radcllff, all of whom were members of the Executive 
Board of the American Women’s Hospitals. 

A quorum of our Board was present at Geneva, and a 
special meeting was called at which Dr. Etta Gray and 
Dr. Mabel E. Elliott made reports regarding our work 
in their different fields. Conditions were improving in 
Serbia, and for this reason retrenchments were decided 
upon and a corresponding increase of activities elsewhere. 
Dr. Elliott was authorized to undertake special work In 
Constantinople and I was Instructed to meet Dr. Graff 
at Moscow for the purpose of arranging the Russian pro- 
gram of the American Women’s Hospitals, which we were 



conducting in cooperation with the American Friends Serv- 
ice Committee (Quakers). 

In spite of our experience in Erivan in 1920, and at 
Ismid in 1921, we reckoned without the Turk. We should 
have known better. The deportations and massacres of 
the Christian population of Turkey had been going on 
for years. The Turks had manifestly adopted a radical 
plan for settling the vexed question of the Christian minori- 
ties, by getting rid of these minorities during the confusion 
of the World War with its aftermath of lesser wars, and 
oiling the troubled waters later if necessary. 

The League of Nations was in session at this time, and 
on September 5th, four days before the Turkish occupa- 
tion of Smyrna, the Kemalist Government sent a note to 
the League alluding to the atrocities said to have been 
committed by the Greeks in Asia Minor, and disclaiming 
“all responsibility for consequences that may arise from 
these terrible provocations.” 

This official notification of the impending holocaust at 
Smyrna, made the nations of the earth, particularly the 
Great Powers with fleets in the Mediterranean, accessories 
before the crime. But we should not be hard on the 
Great Powers. They are not always great. As repre- 
sented by mortal men or women, like the members of our 
board, for instance, their aftersight is apt to be better 
than their foresight. 

A week later, the burning of Smyrna was reported and 
all our plans were changed. With the approval of Dr. 
Thelberg and Dr. Kimball, who had formerly been a mis- 
sionary in Turkey, I left Paris for Constantinople. Dr. 
Elliott had gone from Geneva and I did not know where 
to reach her. She was waiting for me at the station when I 
arrived at Stamboul. We had both heard and answered 
the same call. 

In this unprecedented emergency, the relief organizations 
promptly pooled their resources and operated under the 



Disaster Relief Committee, Admiral Bristol, Chairman. 
The American Women’s Hospitals contributed medical serv- 
ice and funds for medical supplies. Within a few hours of 
our meeting at Constantinople, arrangements had been 
made. Dr. Elliott and her nurse left for Rodosta, Eastern 
Thrace, where thousands of refugees had been landed from 
the Turkish side of the Sea of Marmora, and I caught a 
“tramp” the Dotch, just leaving for Smyrna with food 

The Dotch was a queer old ship. There was some- 
thing about her that suggested a checkered career. I don’t 
know where she got her name. The chances are it was an 
alias. She savored of irregularity, tar and bilge water. If 
she had been a man instead of a ship, she would probably 
have been hanging around a sailor’s boarding house doing 
the chores for food, drink and smoke, hoping to be shang- 
haied just once more. She had a Greek crew, and sailed 
under the flag of old Russia, an autocracy which no longer 
existed. Why she flew the old Russian flag was never 
explained, but two days’ and nights’ acquaintance with that 
vessel gave rise to suspicions that she could not be registered 
under any living government. 

Constantinople was governed by the Inter-Allied Com- 
mission, British, French and Italian, and the Disaster Relief 
Committee must have gotten permission from the port 
authorities for the Dotch to sail. The Straits were con- 
trolled by the squadrons of the Allied nations. These were 
proud nations, and it is not likely that any of them would 
want to see their flag flying over a ship like the Dotch. 
Still, sailing through waters infested with piratical small 
fry, along a coast guarded by “irregulars,” to a seaport 
city just taken by the Turks and practically wiped out, that 
vessel was sadly in need of colors, and old Russia, deceased, 
was not likely to make any trouble regarding the use of 
her flag in this emergency. 

With a box of canned food, coffee, bread for two days. 



and several sterno burners, another American and I went 
out In a caique to the ship, which was anchored in the 
Bosphorus. She was not licensed to carry passengers, and 
no provision was made for such persons. “How do you 
do” said the Greek captain in broken English as we climbed 
aboard, and turning, he fired a vocal volley at the crew, 
after which the capstan began to turn, the chains clanked, 
the anchor came up reluctantly and we steamed away toward 

I did not know my companion’s real name. It began 
with an Sch — and the finish was difficult for a person with- 
out the gift of tongues. To facilitate the hurried business 
of life during the war years, somebody had nicked him 
“Shorty.” He was very tall and while I used his nickname, 
in my mental registry, it began with an Sch. He was a 
famous moving picture man. Photography was not only 
his profession, but his ruling passion. His tracks, wide 
apart, on account of his long legs and haste toward the 
scene of action, covered the battlefields of Europe. He was 
a real sport. Shooting men and harmless animals with 
bullets was not in his line. Such atrocities had no attrac- 
tion for him, except as pictures, and there was no danger 
to himself he would not brave in order to shoot a great 
picture. Nothing in the way of a moving photograph 
that “Shorty” started out to get, had ever been known to 
escape. He afterward went into the Interior of Asia 
Minor, the Taurus mountain country, where he made the 
remarkable film shown in the United States under the 
title, “Grass.” 

The trip to Smyrna was very distressing to “Shorty.” 
He was torn, as it were, between two massacres. The one 
which had already taken place at Smyrna, and the one 
which might take place at Constantinople. We were the 
only Americans on the ship, and we told our troubles to 
each other. Time after time, as we walked the deck, 
“Shorty” paused, reflected and observed with manifest 



anxiety: “Dr. Lovejoy, I am afraid I have made a mis- 
take. If the Turks break loose at Constantinople, there 
will be the greatest massacre that has ever happened in the 
history of the world, and I shall not be there to get it.” 

Great Britain was on the verge of war with Turkey. 
But Great Britain is used to being on the verge of war, 
especially with Turkey. Filibustering In a harmless way 
holds the field and keeps the world guessing until time 
affects desired results. The verge of war is a perfectly 
safe place for a well-balanced nation able to stay on the 
verge. Turkey was either bluffing or really did Want to 
cross the Dardanelles into Thrace, and this move, suc- 
cessful or unsuccessful, would create a new set of compli- 
cations to be adjusted. Perhaps it was time to let well 
enough alone. In any case, a formidable array of British 
warships stood offshore in the Dardanelles, and the Bri- 
tish land forces occupied Chanak. It had been reported 
that a battle was imminent, and “Shorty” went ashore with 
his entire armament prepared to “shoot“ the Turkish and 
British forces in action, but he came back within an hour 
quite disappointed, and reported that there had been a 
little skirmishing, which could be worked up nicely for 
newspaper stories, but nothing of any value for pictures. 

Smyrna from the harbor was a shocking sight. Scanning 
the smoldering ruins from the deck of the Dotch, mem- 
ories of a former visit came back vividly. With the dele- 
gates to the World’s Fourth Sunday School Convention, 
which met at Jerusalem in 1904, I cruised along the Medi- 
terranean stopping at Smyrna and other ports, en route to 
the Holy Land. This pilgrimage was educational as well 
as religious. Sermons and lectures on the subjects of his- 
tory, literature, art, and especially on the religious history 
of the lands we visited, were delivered by scholarly men 
among our delegates. 

When the first historian made his first surviving record, 
Smyrna was standing at the head of a deep inlet on the 



vEgean Coast of Asia Minor, partially protected from the 
dangers of the sea by a landlocked harbor. The wealth 
of the surrounding country has been her blessing and her 
bane since the beginning. Midas and Croesus, whose names 
suggest fabulous riches, lived and ruled within a short dis- 
tance of Smyrna. From Jason to Chester, from the time 
men began to paddle, to the time they crossed the ocean in 
oil-burning dreadnaughts, the quest of the Golden Fleece 
has brought them to the shores of Asia Minor. 

Pirates and privateers came by water, and hordes of 
barbarians and others from Europe and Asia by land. 
Smyrna has been looted, burned and partially destroyed 
by conquering armies time after time in her long career. 
In self-protection, she has fought and bled throughout the 
centuries, but unlike her sister cities of old, she has never 
died of her wounds. Her bones have never been picked 
by vultures, gradually burled by the dust of time, and 
finally dug up by archaeologists. Smyrna is one of the liv- 
ing wonders of the world. The wonder is that she has 
stayed on the surface of the earth, holding her place, name 
and commerce, reduced almost to the vanishing point at 
times, since the beginning of recorded history. 

Smyrna, is a lovely name, from a mythical Amazon, beau- 
tiful of body and unconquerable of spirit, but on account of 
her predominantly Christian population, she has been 
known among the Turks for hundreds of years as Giaour 
Ismir, infidel Smyrna. There are twelve towns in the 
United States called Smyrna, probably sponsored by god- 
fathers, who knew the “tribulations” of the ancient city 
over which she has triumphed gloriously century after cen- 

The “Metropolis of the Levant” had intrigued my imag- 
ination, not only on account of her fine harbor, broad 
quay, and miles of attractive buildings along the curving 
shore line, but on account of her romantic life, changeless 
youth and early Christian associations. 

JVIemorable Easter Services were held by the delegates to the World’s Fourth 
Sunday School Convention, on the Grosser Kurfiirst, steaming away from 
Smyrna toward the Holy Land, in April, 1904, 

The United States destroyer Edsall in the Smyrna Harbor after the fire. 



There was Inspiration in the religious history of Smyrna. 
John, the beloved disciple, Saint Paul, and the personal 
converts of the Apostles, worked as missionaries In that 
field, containing the sites of the Seven Churches of the 
Apocalypse. Polycarp, the first bishop and patron Saint 
of Smyrna, was burned for his faith In the year 155 A.D. 
He did not lose his life — he found It. The heroic death 
of this venerable man, crowning a long life of service, 
won converts to the new religion for which he lived 
and died. 

Our “pilgrims” visited the spot where Polycarp laid down 
his life, and the story of his martyrdom was told over and 
over again In sermons and lectures. Polycarp was beloved 
In Smyrna and the officers of the law were loath to take 
his life. They urged him to recant, but he would not 
recant or equivocate. Perhaps he had nothing but his 
soul and the souls of his converts to save. 

The Grosser Kurfiirst was probably the largest ship 
on the Mediterranean In April, 1904, and along the side of 
the upper deck, the sign, “Jerusalem” In enormous letters 
indicated our destination and the nature of our mission. 
Although we were sailing in Turkish waters, we were not 
hiding our light under a bushel. The ship Itself was a 
Sunday school, a bible school, and the passengers were 
eagerly studying bible lands and characters. Such a dele- 
gation! Committees from the missions came out in boats 
to meet us, and on every possible occasion we lifted up our 
voices and rejoiced together in that stronghold of the 
Christian Faith. 

How firm a foundation ye saints of the Lord, 

Is laid for your faith in His excellent word 1 

When through fiery trials thy pathway shall lie, 

My grace all-sufficient, shall be thy supply; 

The flame shall not hurt thee; I only design 
Thy dross to consume, and thy gold to refine. 



This was the hymn actually sung by the delegates to the 
World’s Fourth Sunday School Convention, over eight 
hundred Christian pilgrims, sailing away from Smyrna 
toward Jerusalem, on Easter Sunday, April 3, 1904. There 
were representatives of different denominations from every 
State in the Union, every province of Canada, from far 
and near countries of Europe, Asia and Africa, and from 
the islands of the sea. 

An Episcopal clergyman from Manitoba led the respon- 
sive reading from the Easter Service; a Presbyterian mis- 
sionary from Syria led in prayer; a Congregational minister 
from Ohio preached the sermon, and the Bishop of Mace- 
donia, who was born in Smyrna pronounced the benedic- 
tion. Christ had risen and the people of the earth were 
uniting in His name. The spirit of unity and strength was 
expressed in another hymn sung on that occasion: 

Elect from every nation, 

Yet one o’er all the earth, 

Her charter of salvation 

One Lord, one faith, one birth; 

One holy name she blesses 
Partakes one holy food. 

And to one hope she presses. 

With every grace endued.” 

But eighteen years had passed, ten of which had been 
devoted to warfare in that country. The navies of the 
nations, which had the largest representation at that Easter 
Service in 1904, were strongly in evidence in the Smyrna 
harbor in September, 1922. Their great ships were lying 
at anchor maintaining neutrality. The Turkish army was In 
control of the country, its warplanes circling over the har- 
bor. The Christian part of the city had been practically 
wiped out, and the Archbishop Chrysostom, a gentle old 
man, who had succeeded Polycarp after seventy generations, 
had been brutally murdered by a Mohammedan mob dur- 
ing the holocaust which followed the Turkish occupation. 



On the deck of the Grosser Kurfiirst in April, 1904, 
with Smyrna standing as witness, there was no question 
regarding the value of the early Christian sacrifices. But 
on the deck of the refugee ship Dotch in September, 1922, 
the stench of dead Smyrna in our nostrils, the sight of the 
allied squadrons, American, English, French and Italian, 
under our eyes, and the sound of the Turkish airplanes over 
our heads inevitably suggested the question, was the martyr- 
dom of Polycarp and his followers in vain? 

Glory and Queen of the Island Sea * 

Was Smyrna, the beautiful city, 

And fairest pearl of the Orient she — 

O Smyrna, the beautiful city! 

Heiress of countless storied ages. 

Mother of poets, saints and sages 
Was Smyrna the beautiful city! 

They crowned with a halo her bishop there. 

In Smyrna, the martyred city. 

Though dabbled with blood was his long white hair — 
O Smyrna, the martyred city ! 

So she kept the faith in Christendom 
From Polycarp to St. Chrysostom, 

Did Smyrna, the glorified city! 

* Written hy George Horton, U. S. Consul-General, Smyrna. 







T he fire, which was started on September 13, 1922, was 
still smouldering when the Dotch crept into the har- 
bor and it looked as though two-thirds of the city had been 
destroyed. The line of demarcation was significant. The 
Turkish quarter was uninjured, but the Christian section of 
the city was practically gone. The ruin somehow reminded 
me of trees I had seen in Belleau Wood with all the 
branches shot away save one stark limb, the Turkish. Along 
the quay for a mile or more, the destruction was complete, 
but near the railroad pier, a line of white buildings had 
been spared and these stood out like tombstones to the 
memory of the city I visited in 1904. It seemed almost as 
though I had met a beautiful woman, Smyrna the Amazon, 
strong and graceful of figure, and the charm of her living 
presence lingered in my consciousness during the inquest 
over her mutilated remains. 

Time after time I had been told of the dire results of 
moving about in warring countries especially in Turkey, 
without official papers, but in the general excitement nobody 
was taking any notice of the Dotch and I landed without 
a military permit. It was suggested that I stay on board 



until an official vessica could be secured from the Turks, but 
a vessica sounded uncertain and I preferred to get ashore 
and consider the permit afterward. 

Several of the fine residences toward the pier end of the 
quay facing the harbor, had been the homes of wealthy 
Christians whose families had lived in Smyrna for gen- 
erations. These people in their wisdom, had fled before 
the Turks took the city, leaving unguarded treasures in 
furniture, rugs, silver and paintings. The cellars of some 
of these homes were well-stocked with luxuries, such as are 
stored by the rich in different parts of the world for the 
entertainment of friends, and many a toast was drunk to 
the health of an absent host wRo had made such convivial 
provision for unexpected guests. 

The American Consulate had been Installed In one of the 
finest residences left standing on the Smyrna quay. The 
house next door served as headquarters for the Disaster 
Relief Committee. Here we were received and lived during 
the last week of September, 1922, which might well be 
called “Evacuation Week,” for It was at this time that the 
majority of the outcasts, who had waited so long on that 
terrible quay, were taken away on ships sent by the Greek 

This headquarters was the center for such work as was 
possible under the appalling conditions. Several members 
of the committee, men who had been connected with edu- 
cational and other work In Smyrna, lived at that house 
and were assisted in their colossal task by English-speaking 
Christians, both men and women, many of whom had been 
educated in the mission schools. 

American and British sailors, however, rendered the 
greatest assistance to the refugees during the evacuation, 
with the exception, of course, of the Greek government 
which cooperated with the Disaster Relief Committee, and 
furnished practically all the refugee ships. The presence of 
American naval men had a tendency to maintain order, and 



there was nothing our boys were not willing to do to help 
those unfortunate people. 

All the American women, who had been living in Smyrna 
prior to the Turkish occupation, embarked for Greece with 
the American Consul General on the night of September 
13, while the fire was raging. At a later date, I under- 
stand, one or more American nurses came into the harbor 
on relief ships, but they did not land. Perhaps they waited 
for vessicas. In any case, I was the only American woman 
who witnessed the cruel spectacle of the evacuation of 
Smyrna, during the last week of September, 1922. An 
English newspaper woman, who was generally supposed to 
be an American, because she lived on a United States 
destroyer, came to the railroad pier several times during 
that week. 

The retreating Greek army left Smyrna on September 

8, 1922; the Turkish army occupied the city on September 

9, and the fire was started on September 13. From that 
date, the Christian population, Turkish subjects of the 
Greek Orthodox religion, and Armenians, had been without 
shelter. During the fire with its attendant murders, rob- 
beries and other outrages, men, women and children swam 
from the quay, and every boat, raft and floating bit of 
timber was utilized in a desperate effort to reach the ships 
in the harbor. 

The mothers with families were not able to swim and take 
their little ones on their backs, but the strong, who had the 
luck to board the ships In the beginning while the fire was 
raging, were not put ashore. They were taken away and 
saved from additional anguish and suffering experienced 
by those who remained on the quay, after the representa- 
tives of the different nations had been officially Instructed to 
maintain neutrality. 

There were approximately 300,000 people huddled 
together on the cobblestones of the Smyrna water front 
and hiding In the ruins, when we reached that port. For 


ten days and nights, they had held their places. The 
quay, within views of the warships of the Allied nations in 
the harbor, and within range of their searchlights at night, 
was the zone of greatest safety, the least likely place for a 
wholesale massacre. 

City dwelling human beings, suddenly deprived of the 
conveniences of civilized life, are utterly unable to care 
for themselves. They are far more offensive than animals 
can possibly be. The people squatting on that quay were 
filthy. They had no means of keeping clean. They dared 
not go back into the ruins of the city for any purpose, lest 
they lose their lives. In less than two weeks the quay had 
become a reeking sewer in which the refugees sat and 
waited for deliverance. When that crowd stirred, the 
stench was beyond belief. 

Between Darages Point and the railroad pier there was 
a triangular water space in which an eddy had seemingly 
been created by the building of the pier. This space was 
filled with floatage made up largely of the carcasses of ani- 
mals. As the mass washed to and fro with the waves 
against the stonework, a bloated human body occasionally 
appeared, and this sickening spectacle was augmented by the 
liberation of offensive gases peculiar to putrlfying flesh. 

Among the outcasts, there were a large number of Eng- 
lish-speaking people. It Is safe to say that during the World 
War there were not as many refugees In all Europe who 
spoke our language, as were assembled on that quay at 
Smyrna. Some of them had studied in British schools, but 
a large proportion had learned English somewhere, some- 
how from Americans. Many of them had lived In America 
and some of their children had been born here. Others 
had been educated in the American mission schools. They 
had known nothing but kindness from Americans, and in 
their great need they crowded as close as they could to the 
Consulate and the relief headquarters where two large 
American flags were displayed. 



The faith of those unfortunate people in our flag was 
pathetic. Many of the mothers had secured shreds of red, 
white and blue cloth which they tied on their arms, and on 
the arms of their children for talismans, as some near 
eastern people wear blue beads to avert the “evil eye” and 
other dangers. 

One young man who had served thirteen months in the 
American Army during the war and had his papers to 
prove it, stood in front of the consulate for that terrible 
week acting as interpreter for American sailors and relief 
workers. On September 29, he asked me if I would go 
with him to the vice-consul. He was hoping that his former 
connection with the American Army, from which he had 
been honorably discharged, might save him. In this he 
was disappointed. The vice-consul said that no provision 
was made for such persons and nothing could be done for 

The people on that quay knew the old Turks. They had 
lived with them for generations. They anticipated trouble, 
but not such a ravage of fire and sword or they would have 
gotten out a month before it came. The cautious ones with 
fluid assets, did go away for a vacation, with the expecta- 
tion of returning after things quieted down, but the majority 
were probably as hopeful as the people of Carthage had 
been before the destruction of that city, two thousand years 
ago. In addition to other difficulties, there was a law in 
Turkey by the provisions of which abandoned property 
accrued to the government, and this tended to keep the 
residents of Smyrna in their homes. Besides, while they 
had not openly participated in the war, it was generally 
known that they had aided and abetted the Allies in every 
possible way, and these victorious nations, whose ships were 
in the harbor, would surely protect them from the vengeance 
of the Turk. 

After neutrality had been declared, announced and exem- 
plified by sending men ashore who swam to the warships 


at night, and in many other ways, the people of Smyrna 
still hoped that they would be protected and taken away 
to places of safety. The presence of allied ships in the har- 
bor undoubtedly afforded a measure of protection by exer- 
cising a restraining influence upon the Turkish forces in 
control of the city. Judging from what actually happened 
under the eyes of other nationals, it is easy to imagine what 
would have happened if their ships had not been there. 

Neutrality was a strange and terrible word to the people 
on that quay. It meant that the warships would not take 
any more of them away; that they were at the mercy of 
their traditional enemies, and it meant outrage, slavery 
and death. 

The Turkish command had issued a proclamation to the 
effect that all refugees, with the exception of males between 
the ages of 17 and 45, would be “permitted” to depart, 
and on the solicitation of the Disaster Relief Committee, 
had agreed to allow Greek ships without Greek flags to 
dock at the end of the pier. A considerable fund had been 
collected from the refugees on the quay to pay for trans- 
portation, but afterward the Greek government on written 
guarantees that Greek vessels would not be seized, placed 
a fleet of freighters at the disposal of the committee. 

These arrangements took time, and the Turks finally 
notified all concerned that males of military age (17-45) 
were to be detained and deported to the interior, and that 
all refugees regardless of age or sex, remaining in Smyrna 
after September 30, 1922, were to share this terrible fate. 
This notice was posted in conspicuous places, and scattered 
from an airplane among the wretched people huddled on 
the quay. 

“Deportation to the interior” was regarded as a short 
life sentence to slavery under brutal masters, ended by mys- 
terious death.* Since conquerors began conquering the dif- 
ferent parts of Asia Minor (Anatolia), “deportation to the 
interior” has been a favorite outdoor sport. The Lost 



Tribes of Israel were “deported to the interior” by Sargon, 
the Conqueror, and not so much as their bones have ever 
been found. There was probably not a great difference 
between the humanities as practiced at the time of Sargon, 
the Conqueror, and the time of Kemal, the Conqueror. 
Thousands upon thousands of Armenians were “deported 
to the interior” during the World War, and many of them 
disappeared as completely as the “Lost Tribes.” No one 
knows what became of them, but the flight of the buzzards 
and the cry of the jackals have a gruesome meaning for 
their widows and surviving children. 

The people on the quay were panic-stricken. The Allies 
had forsaken them. The Turks were going to deport them 
to the interior on the thirtieth of September. What country 
would help them? Greece had signified her willingness to 
receive them, but how could they get there without ships? 
For twelve terrible days and nights they had watched, 
waited and prayed. The stones of the quay were hard, but 
not so hard as the hearts of nations! The sun was blister- 
ing during the daylight hours, and the nights were full of 
horror, but the time was passing so fast, so fast. Only five 
days more to the thirtieth of September and deportation.^ 
Even if ships should come, how could they all embark in so 
short a time? Besides, Greece was poor and overcrowded, 
and since the strong countries, indirectly responsible for 
their suffering, had definitely refused to admit them, per- 
haps Greece would change her mind. Why should one 
nation accept all the Anatolian Christians fleeing for their 
lives, including the Armenians? 

Most of them called themselves Greek, but were they 
Greek? They had never lived in Greece and many of them 
could not speak the Greek language. On the other hand, 
they were not Turks, it seemed, although they had lived 
under the Turkish Government, generation after genera- 
tion, for five hundred years. They were people without a 

' On Sept. 30, this time was extended but the refugees did not know it 
until that daet. 



country, and the Armenians among them were sorry they 
had not turned toward Russia and joined the Soviet. 

Nationality and religion to the people on that quay was 
a hopeless muddle. Two hundred years before the coloni- 
zation of America the Turks had taken Smyrna, but Turk 
meant religion to most of the Christian people in Asia 
Minor. They had seen too many Christians turn Turk 
by accepting the Mohammedan faith. Before accepting the 
Faith they were Armenians or Greeks perhaps, and the 
next day they were Turks, with all the privileges of Turks. 

This confusion of nationality and religion was very well 
shown in the strange case of a certain man who had been 
in the service of an American tobacco company for so many 
years that he looked, acted, talked and no doubt felt like 
an American. He told me quite simply that he was a man 
without a country, and that that was the status of most of 
the Christian people in Turkey. His father was German, 
his mother English, and he was born in Smyrna. Natu- 
rally, they were cosmopolitan in thought and language, but 
he had always considered himself of German nationality. 
He had married a German girl and he thought his children 
were Germans. They were all members of the Lutheran 

His attitude toward the Turkish people was friendly. 
He knew their problems and sympathized with them, but 
he also understood the problems of the Christian minori- 
ties and was vitally interested in them. Had he been born 
in Germany, England or America or had his citizenship 
been carefully guarded, he doubtless would have stood with 
those groups of sympathetic outsiders, who saw both sides 
of an impossible situation, and who leaned, perhaps uncon- 
sciously, toward the side in which they were personally in- 
terested. But he was born in Smyrna. Anatolia was his 
native land, the loveliest country in the world, he said, 
especially along the fertile valley of the Meandre River. 
Having lived there all his life and considered himself a 



German, he had given little thought to proofs of citizenship. 
He held a high position with an American company, and 
while he did not say so, no doubt he had quietly kept out 
of the World War. But when the Turkish Army was 
marching on Smyrna and all the outsiders were getting 
their passports, he applied at the German Consulate and 
was told that he was not a German. 

This was staggering information. If he was not a 
German, what was he? What was the nationality of his 
wife and children? Surely, they were not Turks! If so, 
he and his sons might be called to serve in the Turkish 
Army. Finally, through the influence of friends and other- 
wise, he secured a Portuguese passport, on which he was 
able to get his family out of the country. In this emergency, 
he had become a Portuguese, almost the last kind of a 
national he wanted to be. 

Meanwhile, the Turks had taken the city, and quite by 
chance he met a lifelong friend, a Turkish officer, who told 
him that he had better come over to the Turkish headquar- 
ters and get papers to prove his German citizenship. This 
was an agreeable solution of the dilemma. The Turks 
issued papers certifying to the German citizenship of this 
man, which were perfectly good in Turkey. 

“In my left pocket,” he said, “I have a Portuguese pass- 
port, and in my right pocket I have Turkish papers to prove 
that I am a German, and I should certainly like to know 
what my nationality really is. There is no doubt about 
my race, religion and business. My father was German, 
my mother English, my business connections American, my 
religion Lutheran, and I would never serve in the Turkish 

In Issuing these papers the Turks, of course, knew just 
what they were doing. This was a man of wide influence 
with powerful American, English and German connections. 
By involving him they would gain nothing, and might lose 
a great deal. Why further complicate an already compli- 



cated situation by embarrassing such persons? As a friend 
he was worth while. Besides, they liked and respected him, 
personally. He belonged to the ruling class of human 
beings, to whom courtesies and privileges are extended as 
a sort of birthright. 

The Dotch sailed to Greece with a cargo of refugees. 
She was a ship without a country, and that helped some in 
this emergency. There was no Russian representative to 
step forth with the power of life and death in his hand 
and say, “I forbid this ship to sail. We must maintain 
neutrality no matter what happens to these women and 
children. Pooh ! What an odor ! It makes me sick at the 
stomach. Come In to the Consulate, let’s get a drink.” 
And all this suggests the desirability of keeping a stock of 
the flags of dead nations on hand for such emergencies. 

The first ships that took refugees from Smyrna after 
neutrality was being strictly observed, were paid for by the 
refugees themselves. Members of the Disaster Relief Com- 
mittee collected money from the refugees on the quay to 
help defray the cost of such ships, and Issued tickets to the 
people contributing to this enterprise. Some of the refugees 
gave large sums, but when the rush along the pier finally 
came, these tickets were worse than useless. The gates 
were guarded by Turkish soldiers, and the sight of one of 
those pink tickets merely meant that the holder had parted 
with real money, which they might have secured as part 
payment for taking Smyrna. 

The night of September 25th had come. Eight ships 
sailed on the 24th, one on the 25th, and only four days 
remained until the 30th of September. That evening at 
dusk, I stood on the balcony of the Relief Headquarters 
with a native Christian woman, and looked out over the 
shoal of tragic faces on the quay. There was a strange 
murmur of many voices rising and falling along the water 
front. The sound was mournful, like the moaning of the 
sea, increasing in volume as the darkness deepened. The 



language was unfamiliar, the tone minor and the effect weird 
and indescribably uncanny, 

“What are they doing?” I asked this girl. 

“Praying,” she answered simply. “Praying for ships,” 

This girl and her sister, capable, well-educated young 
women, had been working among the refugees and keeping 
house for the Disaster Relief Committee, since the opening 
of the headquarters. I had urged them to take the first 
ship which they could reach lest they lose the opportunity. 
But their young brother was in hiding, and they refused to 
leave, because in saving themselves they would sentence him 
to certain deportation and probable death. By staying 
they could give him food, day after day, and they might 
be able to find someone, some American perhaps, who would 
help him get away. 

That night when I went to my room, which I shared with 
this young woman, I found her kneeling by her bedside 
praying to God for mercy — praying for her people, for 
ships, and for her brother’s life. She had been educated 
in a mission school, and she spoke my language. She asked 
me to pray with her, but my soul was dumb. As I listened 
to that strange woman pleading her case with God, so 
simply, so intimately, even as she might speak to her father, 
I sensed, in a vague, indefinite way, the meaning of “Our 
Father which art in heaven” and I realized that I was 
standing in the presence of the Faith which had sustained 
her people, age after age, unto this day. 

The remnant of the race to which that woman belonged, 
after eight years of massacre and deportation under the 
Turks, had joined Soviet Russia in order to survive. She 
and her family had lost all their worldly possessions. They 
were facing deportation and perhaps death, but as soon as 
her prayer was finished she slept peacefully, while I, in 
perfect personal security, lay awake listening to the terrible 
sounds from the quay. 

Night after night blood-curdling shrieks, such as Dante 


never imagined in Hell, swept along that ghastly water- 
front. From my roommate I knew what these cries meant. 
When the Turkish regulars or irregulars, under cover of 
darkness, came through the ruins to the quay for the pur- 
pose of robbing the refugees or abducting their girls, the 
women and children, a hundred thousand or more in con- 
cert, shrieked for light, until the warships in the harbor 
would throw their searchlights to and fro along the quay, 
and the robbers would slink back into the ruins. 

Darkness and silence followed these outbursts, broken at 
times by the phonographs on the warships in the harbor, 
which, of course, suggested Nero playing the violin while 
Rome was burning. Poor old pagan ! He was probably in 
the habit of playing the violin, and there was no reason 
why he should suddenly interrupt this comparatively harm- 
less pastime. He didn’t belong to the fire department. In 
any case, since Smyrna, we should let Nero and his violin 
rest. He has been outclassed. We have a better story. 
Time after time, the sweet strains of familiar records, in- 
cluding “Humoresque,” and the swelling tones of Caruso 
in “Pagliacci,” floating over the waters, were suddenly 
drowned in that frightful chorus of shrieks from the Smyrna 

Well after midnight I heard a sound on the stairs. It 
was Mr. Jacobs of the Y. M. C. A., bringing good news. 
Nineteen ships were coming Into the harbor. Greece was 
not only receiving the refugees, but she was sending ships 
to save them. The Golden Age of Greece In art and litera- 
ture was over two thousand years ago, but the Golden Age 
of Greece measured by the Golden Rule, is during the 
present decade. 







E arly Tuesday morning, September 26, a terrible strug- 
gle to reach the ships docking at the end of the railroad 
pier began. The quay was separated from the pier by two 
iron picket fences about seventy yards apart. These fences 
had narrow gates. The pier extended a long distance out 
to deep water, and three more fences with narrow gates 
had been Improvised by placing heavy timbers across the 
pier about two or three hundred yards apart. The purpose 
of these fences was to force the refugees to pass through the 
narrow gates, where they could be carefully scrutinized, and 
all men who appeared to be of military age detained for 
“deportation to the Interior.” The gates were guarded, 
and between the first and second gates at the north end of 
the quay leading to the pier there was a double line of 
Turkish soldiers. In addition to officers and other soldiers 
moving to and fro among the refugees. 

The officers and crew of the American destroyers in the 
harbor were of the greatest assistance to the Disaster 
Relief Committee. The privilege of helping the refugees 
was a favor granted by the Turks to American and British 
naval men, and It goes without saying that the sailors of 
both countries were guilty of many unauthorized acts of 
humanity. Most of the American boys assigned to help 


the outcasts were stationed near the center of the pier, and 
at the far end the British assisted the sick and weak to 
board the ships. 

This was a boon to the unfortunate women, children and 
old people, who, without their able-bodied men and with all 
their worldly goods salvaged from the fire upon their backs, 
were going into a strange country to live or die. These 
precious bundles, containing bedding, clothing, cooking 
utensils, and perhaps a loaf of bread and bottle of water, 
impeded the progress of the refugees along the pier, but 
on the islands afterward these articles were in many cases 
the determining factors between death and survival. 

The description of that frantic rush to reach the ships is 
beyond the possibility of language. Pain, anguish, fear, 
fright, despair and that dumb endurance beyond despair, 
cannot be expressed in words. Fortunately, there seems to 
be a point at which human beings become incapable of fur- 
ther suffering — a point where reason and sensation fail, 
and faith, cooperating with the instincts of self-preserva- 
tion and race preservation, takes control, releasing sub- 
human and superhuman reservoirs of strength and endur- 
ance which are not called upon under civilized conditions 
of life. 

For six hours on Tuesday, September 26, I stood near 
the land end of the pier, between the first and second gates, 
watching this inhuman spectacle. Thousands upon thou- 
sands of refugees, with heavy bundles upon their backs, 
pressed forward along the quay, struggling to reach and 
pass through the first gate. The Turkish soldiers beat 
them back with the butts of their guns to make them come 
more slowly, but they seemed insensible to pain, and their 
greatest fear in the daylight was the fear of not reaching the 

In a desperate effort to keep their families together, 
many of the women lost their bundles, and some of them 
were pushed off the quay into the shallow water near that 



floating mass of carrion which washed against the stone- 
work. No effort was made to help them out of the water. 
Such an effort would have necessitated the putting down of 
bundles, or children, and every person in that crowd strong 
enough to carry anything was carrying a pack or a child, or 
helping the sick and old of his own family. So these women 
stood in the water waist deep, holding up their little ones, 
until they were able to scramble out and join the crowd, 
with nothing in the world left to them but the wet rags on 
their backs. 

The crush at the first gate was terrible. Many of the 
women lost one or both shoes, their clothing was torn and 
their hair hanging by the time they got through. One poor 
old grandmother, who had become separated from her 
group, was naked from her waist to her feet and apparently 
unconscious of this fact, as she ran about in the open space 
near where I was standing, calling pitifully for her family. 
Another woman, whose child passed the gate just as a halt 
was called, was beaten back by the soldiers, but the mother 
instinct is hard to control. With a wild expression of coun- 
tenance she turned, dropped her bundle and went over that 
iron picket fence, which was at least seven feet high, like 
an orang-outang. A soldier was ordered to stop her, and 
he cornered her between the fence and a small building on 
the inside, beat her with the butt of his gun, and finally 
pinned her against the building with the muzzle of it, in an 
effort to make her listen to reason and obey orders. But 
that poor mother had reverted to the lower animals and was 
acting on instinct. She couldn’t be controlled by a gun 
unless it was fired. With her eyes on her child, who was 
being pushed along with the crowd in the distance, she broke 
away, and the soldier shrugged his shoulders impotently, 
as much as to say, “What is the use of trying to manage 
such a crazy creature.” 

All along this fence there were women attempting to 
climb over and get their children over. Here and there 



they were caught on the sharp pickets. A Turkish soldier, 
who had noticed that the gate receipts were worth while for 
those who had the luck to be stationed along the line of 
traffic, Improvised a ladder by hooking a bed spring on the 
pickets, and did a profitable business helping women and 
children over the fence at this point. 

Meanwhile, several thousand people had passed the first 
and second gates and were making their way painfully along 
the pier, carrying their heavy burdens and taking the test 
at each gate. Some of the roadway of this pier was built of 
heavy planks, about two Inches apart, and the children’s bare 
feet slipped through these spaces If they were not carefully 
watched. The difficulty of walking these planks was further 
enhanced by the broken glass of water bottles dropped by 
the overburdened refugees. 

In the space between the first two fences many of the 
deportees were robbed. Individual soldiers would seize 
the more prosperous-appearing women, drag them out of 
the line and rob them In broad daylight. As the men of 
military age passed through with their families, they were 
sometimes arrested at once and placed with the group of 
prisoners for deportation, but frequently a man or his wife 
would whisper to the soldier making the arrest, after which 
they would pay tribute and the man would be released. 
Before he had gone far, he would be held up by another sol- 
dier and then another, the experience being repeated over 
and over again. At first I wondered why they temporized 
In this manner, but as the hours passed the motive became 
clear. It was evidently a plan of the common soldiers to 
secure their share of the loot, and to trick the women, who 
had money or other valuables secreted upon their persons. 
Into buying their husband’s or their son’s freedom. These 
men would afterward be arrested at one of the gates farther 
down the pier, many of them reaching the last gate before 
they were finally placed with the prisoners for “deportation 
to the Interior.” 



During that morning different people stood with me at 
different times, in the space between the first two fences, 
and I noticed that while American naval officers In their 
unmistakable uniforms were present, the outrages were less 
flagrant. But the Turkish soldiers did not seem to mind 
civilians, although things might have been worse If we 
hadn’t been there. An American resident of Smyrna was 
with me for an hour or more, and the robberies went on 
under our eyes. For some reason I could not understand 
In the beginning, this man kept making excuses for this 
Inexcusable conduct. 

“If the Turkish officers were here, this would be stopped,” 
he said, and just then an officer came along, spick and span 
in a new uniform, but for the color of which he might easily 
have passed for a Frenchman, or even an Italian — the Beau 
Brummell of military officialdom. 

My companion spoke Turkish, and he complained to this 
officer, who acted promptly and demonstratively. With 
spectacular gestures he moved along the line threatening 
the offenders with his cane, which he sometimes brought 
down upon their backs with more show than force. The 
act was unconvincing, and I noticed that the profitable bed- 
spring hooked to the pickets was not removed. We could 
not hear what this officer said, and I do not understand 
Turkish anyway, but judging from results he probably said, 
“Don’t rob anybody In the light of my presence; wait until 
I face the other way,” for the minute his back was turned 
operations were promptly resumed. While deprecating 
these outrages, the man who had spoken to the officer con- 
tinued to find excuses, and finally said plainly: “Dr. Fove- 
joy, please be careful what you say about all this in the 
United States. Remember, we have to live here.” 

I was interested in the aforementioned Turkish officer. 
He seemed too emphatic. While watching the evacuation 
I kept a special eye on him as he passed along the line with 
his menacing cane. Finally, my watchfulness was rewarded. 

American marines helping the sick on the Smyrna Railroad Pier, A Turkish naval officer (left'] looking at a refugee lying neac 

the edge of the pier. 


British Marines Helping the Refugees With Their Bundles. 

Family group ready for embarkation. Grandparents, mother and 
children, but no husband or grown sons. 

Men separated from their families on the Smyrna Pier and held 
for deportation to t!ie "Interior.” (x) Turkish guards. 


The I.ast Barricade ny the Sma'r\a Pier. 
(x) Dr. Esther Polil Lovejoj". 



An old man, a promising prize, came through the gate just 
as this officer was passing, and reaching out casually he took 
the old man by the arm and led him away and robbed him, 
incidentally giving an impressive demonstration of a thor- 
ough job to his subordinates. 

The people who pooh-pooh the Idea of atrocities now 
that the war Is over, seem as mistaken to me as those who 
formerly took the opposite position and increased, multi- 
plied and exaggerated every story which impugned the 
honor and humanity of an enemy country, as reflected in Its 
soldiers. War, itself. Is the greatest of all atrocities, and 
it always has and always will be attended by lesser atrocities 
all down the line and along the way. There are a large 
number of men In prison In different countries. Including the 
United States, for atrocities committed against women and 
children In times of peace. During periods of war, when 
brutal Instincts, or rather hellish Instincts (for brutes do 
not attack the females of their own species) are unleashed, 
it Is not likely that anti-social types of men voluntarily 

The greatest crime against humanity with which I am 
personally familiar was committed on the Smyrna Rail- 
road Pier during the last week of September, 1922, and 
consisted in the separation, by military force, of the mem- 
bers of all the Christian families. At every gate during 
the daylight hours, this atrocity was conducted systematic- 
ally. As family after family passed those gates, the father 
of perhaps 42 years of age, carrying a sick child or other 
burden, or a young son, and sometimes both father and son, 
would be seized. This was the climax of the whole terrible 
experience for every family. In a frenzy of grief, the 
mother and children would cling to this father and son, 
weeping, begging and praying for mercy, but there was no 
mercy. With the butts of their guns, the Turkish soldiers 
beat these men backward Into the prison groups and drove 
the women toward the ships, pushing them with their guns. 



striking them with straps or canes, and urging them forward 
like a herd of animals, with the expression, “Haide I 
Haide!” which means begone! begone! 

I shall never forget those women with their little children 
clinging to their skirts as they moved backward, step by 
step, gazing for the last time, perhaps, upon the faces of 
their husbands and sons. “Their wives shall be widows and 
their children orphans” is a prophecy which was fulfilled on 
the Smyrna Railroad Pier, the Via Dolorosa of those 
unfortunate people. 

Deportation is a common practice during war, but this 
was not a common deportation. The men were going to the 
“interior,” and the women, children and old people, were 
going to a strange country to begin life anew without the 
support of their natural protectors. Day after day the 
pitiful procession of mothers and their little children, the 
aged, sick and helpless, moved toward the ships. This was 
the most cruel, cowardly and unsportsmanlike spectacle that 
ever passed under the eyes of heaven. 

“Haide! Haide!” Everybody was echoing this expres- 
sion, and “Haide git” for special emphasis. The Americans 
and English took it up. They didn’t know exactly what it 
meant. They only knew that it kept the crowd moving, 
and it was imperative to get these people away as quickly 
as possible. There are times when human beings must 
seem cruel to be kind, and many a man with a tender heart 
puts on an armor of hard-boiledness. 

There was nothing the refugees seemed to dread more 
than to be overtaken by darkness on the pier, or in the curve 
at the north end of the quay beyond the reach of the search- 
lights. They were not allowed to remain on the pier during 
the night, and after struggling all day to reach that point, it 
was sometimes impossible to embark, or to get back to a 
place of comparative safety, within range of the search- 
lights, before darkness settled. A gate had been opened 
toward the rear end of the first fence, which routed the 



procession farther into this dreaded angle, and here a 
growing pyramid of rejected clothing and other articles 
from the precious bundles belonging to the refugees mutely 
testified to the daily struggle and the nightly pillage. 

Near this point of the quay one day a strange-looking 
caique pushed through the floating carrion, stirring the mass 
and accentuating the nauseating odor. It was a large Le- 
vantine boat with oars and a dull red sail, manned by a 
picturesque gang of cutthroats. This was Thanksgiving 
Day with them, and they had brought twelve rams as a 
sacrificial offering. The ceremony was creepy. A moving 
ring was formed with the poor sheep In the center, and 
after a weird performance all their throats were cut, the 
officiants wiping their knives and hands on the victims’ wool. 
When this rite was finished, the carcasses of the animals 
were thrown into the caique and the worshipful crew rowed 
away, leaving the sacrificial blood of the rams on the stones 
of the quay. 

There was a surgeon from the British Navy doing emer- 
gency work near the far end of the pier, and I was asked 
to walk up and down and watch for the sick, especially for 
women having labor pains. Such women and other refu- 
gees who were completely exhausted were taken out of line 
and helped aboard the ships by the American and British 
sailors. Many lives were saved in this way, or at least 
many of the sick were prevented from dying on the pier. 

In a city with so large a population there were, of course, 
a great many expectant mothers, and these terrible experi- 
ences precipitated their labors in many instances. Children 
were born upon the quay and upon the pier, and one woman, 
who had been in the crush at the first gate for hours, finally 
staggered through holding her just-born child in her hands. 

The sailors soon came to know me and call me in mater- 
nity cases. On one occasion a British boy took me aboard 
a ship almost ready to pull out, where there were three 
women in need of help. Down into the hold I followed 


this young sailor, and there, literally packed in with such a 
mass of people that the place was humid with their breath- 
ing, was a poor woman in labor. With great difficulty we 
got her out and placed her on the deck behind a chicken 
coop. Her clothes were in rags, her hairpins gone and her 
long hair hanging loose. She had lost her shoes and her 
feet were bare and blistered. She was dirty like the rest 
of the refugees, but I noticed that her chemise was made 
of fine linen, hand embroidered. She spoke English, and 
when I asked her sister, who was with her, what they had 
to wrap the baby In, she opened a small bundle of baby 
clothes, which the young mother had clung to during the 
burning of Smyrna, and the subsequent two weeks on the 
quay. Daintily made by hand, edged with fine lace and tied 
with ribbons, these little things aboard that refugee ship 
testified to a home life which seemed as remote and im- 
possible as the Elyslan age — “the age of love, and innocence 
and joy.” 

At another time I was called to a woman In labor on the 
quay. There was a midwife in the crowd who promised 
to stay with the sick woman, if we would see that they were 
both put aboard a ship later. An American marine was with 
me, and we knocked insistently on the door of one of the 
few houses standing. Finally It was opened, the woman 
taken In and made as comfortable as possible. The place 
was full of frightened people. Just as I was leaving, a 
woman who spoke English detained me. She was In deep 
trouble like all the rest. Her sons and several other young 
men whose parents were in that house were hidden In the 
attic. Up a narrow stair she led the way to a low space 
at the top of the house, where these young men were lying 
flat on their chests looking out through peepholes under 
the eaves. 

After the manner of mothers, this woman begged me to 
help these boys escape. The older members of the family 
would gladly die, she said. If only their young could live and 



be free. These boys were watching the ships in the harbor, 
measuring the distance and planning to make a swim for 
life and liberty. But their mothers were afraid. Night 
after night, young men from the quay, who knew that they 
could not pass the gates on the pier, were silently slipping 
Into the dark waters, and no one ever knew whether they 
succeeded or failed in their desperate attempts to escape. 
It was a long way to swim and hard to beat against the 
steel plates of a ship in the darkness, when the waves were 
high. The waters were smooth in the morning, and told no 
tales of the night, but sometimes on the flooding tide a body 
was seen floating In the distance, and hundreds of women 
on the quay whose men had made that swim, said prayers 
for the souls of the drowned. 

The anguish of the mothers whose sons were planning 
to swim from the quay was easy to understand, for the night 
before, the only time during the week that refugees were 
embarked after dark, two men were observed swimming 
toward the British destroyers In the path of a searchlight 
thrown across the water from another warship. Turkish 
soldiers, ordered to shoot the swimmers, stood on the edge 
of the pier and shot time after time. The men were a 
long distance from shore, and the bullets would go beyond 
or fall short of the mark, and skip like flat stones on the 
water, which was very smooth that night. Everybody on 
the pier, refugees, sailors, officers and relief workers, stood 
still and watched the spectacle. There was no noise, no 
screaming as might have been expected. The silence was 
broken by the repeated reports of the rifles. The tension 
was ominous. The American boys were quiet, very quiet. 
Finally, one of the men ceased swimming. Perhaps he 
was hit. I do not know. At this point an American officer 
protested and offered to send out a boat and pick up the 
swimmers. This was done. 

Then came the vital question of neutrality. According 
to the rules I was told, these men could not be put aboard 



the British ship, although they might have been taken 
aboard, for humanity’s sake, regardless of rules, if they 
had reached the ship unobserved. Beyond the path of the 
searchlight it was impossible to see, and I do not know 
from personal observation what happened after the light 
was turned in another direction and the launch passed into 
the darkness. 

About a year later I was talking at the Young Women’s 
Christian Association at Pittsburgh, and spoke of the boys 
of Smyrna swimming out to the ships in the harbor at night. 
At the back of the auditorium a young woman arose and 
said: “My name is Johnson. My husband is an American. 
I was born in Smyrna. My brother, fifteen years old, 
made that swim, and he is here at school in Pittsburgh.” 

Day after day there was a succession of harrowing inci- 
dents. Children fell off the pier and were drowned, young 
men committed suicide, old people died of exhaustion, and 
at the end of the pier, when two or three ships were loading 
at the same time, children were lost and their mothers ran 
to and fro frantically calling for their little ones, and great 
was the joy if the lost were found. But in many instances 
such children were already stowed away in the holds of 
outgoing ships, crying for their mothers, who were put 
aboard vessels bound for other ports. 

Women whose husbands had been seized and whose sons 
had swum away into the unknown at night moved down that 
pier silently, and sometimes audibly praying for strength 
and mercy. With seemingly impossible loads on their backs 
and their little children by their sides, they passed those 
infernal gates. In view of their astounding strength and 
endurance, which was repeatedly remarked by strong men 
easing their burdens from time to time, who, with eyes and 
ears and understanding, can say that their prayers were 
not answered? 

The flaming spirit of nationalism was the immediate 
cause of all this suffering, but behind it in Turkey was reli- 


glon. The Anatolian Greeks and Armenians had been 
Christians for almost a thousand years before they were 
conquered by the Mohammedans, and the Faith by which 
they had lived sustained them in their suffering. No matter 
how imperfect they may have been as Christians and human 
beings (and on this point we should withhold judgment lest 
we be judged), they believed in the saving power of God 
through Jesus Christ, and this was their last refuge. 





E arly one morning I walked along the pier with an officer 
of the American Navy. The separation of families 
was going on at every gate. At the last barrier two girls 
were begging for the life of their young brother, who had 
just been seized. He had passed four gates and his life 
had probably been bought and paid for several times. 
Almost within reach of the ships he had been finally 
arrested. Without avail, they had pleaded and tried to buy 
him off, and they were in despair when capricious fate sud- 
denly intervened. The right man passed at the right 
moment. The American officer walking with me was that 
man. He had seen thousands of families separated and had 
heard thousands of women weeping. According to his own 
statement he was hard-boiled, but I had my doubts. These 
girls spoke his language. They knew he had great power 
and they begged for their brother’s freedom, as only 
women can beg for the lives of those they love. After the 
manner of people of that country, they knelt and kissed his 
hands. He tried to shake them off, but they clung to him, 
one on each side, their dark, pleading eyes fixed upon his 
face. Orders were orders, and he had his orders indirectly 
from Washington, but he had higher orders directly from 
God Almighty, which are written in the soul of every manly 
man. These girls were very beautiful, and they had gotten 




under his armor. They had found favor in his eyes. He 
was manifestly torn between a personal desire to help them 
and an official desire to maintain discipline ! 

“Look at him,” they pleaded. “He is our only brother. 
You can save his life! For God’s sake say the word! He 
is sick! He will die!” 

“Yes, he’s sick.” Like a drowning man our American 
officer seized this straw of an excuse. “Anybody can see 
that that boy is sick.” 

Through an interpreter, the American officer explained 
to the Turkish officer in command that the boy was sick. 
Certainly he was sick. They agreed on the diagnosis. What 
was the ailment? Immaterial. What does the name of a 
necessary disease matter between officers and gentlemen? 
The Turk bowed to his fellow-officer, smiled at the lovely 
girls, issued an order in an undertone and the closing gates 
of the world opened to that boy. 

Instantly a woman with a family of little children, whose 
husband had just been taken, seized my hand. I did not 
know her language, but I sensed her suffering. It was 
against the rules to interfere in any way, but I looked 
toward the Turkish officer and Indicated that prisoner. 
This officer was in a gracious mood. Without the slightest 
hesitation, he set the man free. He did not need an excuse. 
This was merely a personal favor to an American woman 
— a small favor. Christian life was cheap that day on the 
Smyrna pier. 

Two men were saved, but what about the other prisoners ? 
They were all taken sick at once, and were displaying the 
evidence of their ailments. As a matter of fact, they were 
sick. Human beings cannot suffer as they had suffered for 
two weeks and remain in health. But the gifts of life were 
over for that group of prisoners, and a few minutes later 
they were marched away. 

Finding favor was an important business in Smyrna 
during the evacuation. In many cases it meant the differ- 


1 66 

ence between life and death — “deportation to the Interior” 
or freedom. One of the marines, who had witnessed the 
intervention of the American officer in favor of the boy- 
above mentioned, told me later that he was glad the girls 
put it over. He was smarting under a reprimand for help- 
ing young girls instead of devoting his time to feeble old 

“What do you think about it, lady?” he asked. “I think 
we ought to get the girls aboard the ships first. The Turks 
don’t want the old people.” 

Another husky youngster, who had taken a pretty girl 
under his protection, was deeply distressed when his ship 
was ordered away. I had noticed this girl sitting in a niche 
of masonry near one of the windows of the relief house 
with this big American in front of her, and at such times 
she looked quite safe. Before leaving, he came In to see 
one of the committee about getting her aboard a refugee 

“She is my girl,” he said. “I got her that place near the 
window and the blanket and pillow. I’ve kept her there 
and brought her food for nearly two weeks, and I don’t 
want no Turk to get her now. Give me the God’s truth. 
Promise you’ll watch her and get her aboard a ship.” 

The girl who shared her room with me also found favor. 
Her prayer for her brother’s life was heard and answered 
on earth. I heard it and “Shorty” answered it. This girl 
and her sister were cooking and keeping house for the Dis- 
aster Relief Committee and others at the headquarters, and 
I advised them confidentially to cultivate “Shorty,” to wait 
on him and see that he had plenty to eat no matter who went 
hungry. Naturally they found favor in his eyes, and when 
I told him about their special trouble he stepped right out 
as though he expected to get a particularly fine picture, but 
he didn’t take his camera. Within an hour he passed down 
the quay and along the pier assisting a sick person on a 
stretcher carried by a sailor, who led the way, and a new 



relief worker with a cork hat well over his face. They 
boarded a refugee ship and left the sick person, and also the 
strange relief worker, in the hold. 

As soon as these girls knew that their brother was safely 
away they started at once for the pier, and as they passed 
me In the crowd, one of them pulled off her bracelet and 
pressed It into my hand. I still have that bracelet, an 
exquisite trinket — my share of the Smyrna loot. 

Several other members of the household staff left that 
day. These poor creatures did not want to leave the house 
In the lurch, as It were, but they were afraid of deportation. 
Dinner that evening was not a success. The cook was 
missed. People usually eat without much thought of the 
cook, but when there is nothing to eat worth eating the cook 
is remembered with regret. “Shorty” beamed over that dis- 
orderly board. It was a case of everyone for himself, and 
those with cafeteria training fared better than those accus- 
tomed to service. Confronted with this hardship, every- 
body registered cheerful endurance, but it was clear that 
some of the older men would have made very poor 

On the night of September 29 I left Smyrna on the 
United States destroyer Litchfield. There were, perhaps, 
fifty thousand refugees still in Smyrna, and approximately 
a quarter of a million had gotten away. Pestilential dis- 
eases were inevitable among these people wherever they 
went, and our organization would be called upon to conduct 
hospitals for their care. Fortunately, we had a small 
fund, but It was necessary for me to reach the United 
States as quickly as possible in order to get more money 
for this service. 

Several Americans were leaving. Including the United 
States Commercial Attache and the representative of the 
Baldwin Locomotive Company. I was detained on account 
of an accident to Mr. Jacobs of the Y. M. C. A., who had 
been working day and night since the beginning of the holo- 



caust for the relief of the victims. It was dusk when I 
reached the small pier used by the launches of the warships, 
but I saw one of the sailors pass my suitcase to a young boy 
and I heard him whisper; “Take this suitcase aboard for 
the lady and don’t come back. Listen! Don’t come back.” 

Strange as it may seem, the conversation during dinner 
on the destroyer turned to the menace of Russia and the 
evils of the Soviet system, on which we were practically all 
agreed. One charitable, historically-minded person, how- 
ever, remarked that the Russians had been on the job only 
five years, and, within view and hearing of the Smyrna 
demonstration after the advantages of almost two thousand 
years of Christian and Mohammedan culture, we should 
give the Russians at least a thousand years before passing 
judgment upon their system. By that time, with the help 
of the Turks and other Asiatics, there might be none of us 
left to pass judgment. 

Dinner was over and the men had lighted their cigarettes 
when the captain turned to me and asked about the boy 
who came aboard with my suitcase. I told him that he was 
a stranger to me, but the captain seemed unsatisfied, so he 
sent for the boy and questioned him in the presence of every- 
body, including the vice-consul, who was a guest at dinner. 
This boy was small in stature, looked very young, not more 
than twenty, and spoke English well. He was pale and 
trembling, for it was a case of life or deportation and death, 
perhaps, to him, although but a light, unimportant matter 
to those used to this sort of thing from the other end of the 
game. Mr. Jacobs identified the boy as one of those who 
had been helping relief workers on the quay. Therefore, 
we knew that in saving others he had probably lost any 
chance to save himself. 

He was a brave boy. Not a word did the captain get 
out of him about his friend the sailor who sent him aboard. 
I had not noticed him particularly, but standing before his 
judge in the bright light of the cabin, his thin, blanched 



face contrasted strikingly with the older, harder faces of 
that company, and strangely suggested the “Judgment” 
upon which his religion was founded. 

There was no fault in this boy except that he was an 
Orthodox Christian. My plea for him was of necessity 
denied. In the beginning the captain might have closed 
his eyes, but having called attention to the case he was 
bound by the rules and as helpless as “Pilate.” 

The captain of the Litchfield was an efficient officer. 
Wherever he appeared during the evacuation order was 
maintained. Day after day I met him on the quay and pier. 
He seemed like a man with a kind heart and a strong 
defense reaction against this weakness within himself. In 
the performance of their duties such men are apt to lean 
backward from their humane impulses. 

The boy was sent ashore — two of them, for another had 
meanwhile reached the ship. This seemed very cruel, but 
orders are orders, and neutrality is neutrality. 

Less than half an hour later, while I was leaning over 
the rail peering through the darkness at the last refugee 
ship of the day pulling out from the end of the wharf, a 
sailor told me that those boys had been put on the pier. 
The vessel was already well in the stream, and with the 
pier guarded by Turkish soldiers, it seemed unlikely that 
they could have gotten aboard — ^but perhaps they did. 
Seven months later I was told by a diplomat at Lausanne 
that those two boys had actually been put aboard that out- 
going refugee ship. Strange, how that boy’s pale face still 
lingers in my memory. If I ever meet Saint Peter I shall 
ask about him. 

I was still leaning over the rail when the representative 
of the Baldwin Locomotive Company, who had been in 
Smyrna on business for several days, came along and stood 
with me for a few minutes. He said that he had been on 
the pier, but did not stay long, because he could not bear 
to witness the suffering of the children. “Besides,” he 


added, as he turned away, “my business Is to sell locomo- 

That was the answer. That was the core of the whole 
wicked game. It was a case of every man for himself, and 
every company and country for that matter. The ships In 
the harbor were under Instructions to protect the property 
of their own nationals and otherwise maintain neutrality. 
Their shadowy forms on the dark water suggested a herd 
of sea monsters with big bodies and no heads. 

They had not saved the property of their nationals unless 
“futures” may be regarded as property. They had failed. 
The property had gone up In smoke. But, If In all the 
ages that men have lived upon the earth, they had found 
some simple plan of standing together for humanity’s sake 
In times of great disaster, Smyrna would have been saved, 
and Incidentally the precious property. Fire on the rampage 
Is an Impartial power. Regardless of the national status of 
Insurance companies, It swept through Smyrna without paus- 
ing to salute the flags of the Consulates of the favored 
nations north of the Turkish quarter. With tongues of 
flame It lapped them up and wiped the city from the earth. 

From the deck of the Litchfield after dark, the ruins 
of Smyrna seemed as spectral and fantastic as a nightmare. 
I could not see the people huddled at the north end of the 
quay In the angle they dreaded so terribly, but I knew' they 
were there, and that later In the night they would shriek 
for searchlights. 

An epochal fortnight had passed, and the memories of 
my visit with the delegates to the World’s Fourth Sunday 
School Convention belonged to the era of past Illusions. 
The destroyer was preparing to slip away quietly. No 
one was singing “How Firm a Foundation,” but over the 
water, from a distant minaret, came the call of the muezzin: 
‘‘La ilaha illa-llahu, Muhammad rasul allahi!’* 






T he Greek Islands near the coast of Anatolia were con- 
venient dumping grounds for retreating Greek soldiers 
and the Smyrna refugees. At least 200,000 deportees were 
marooned for a time on the Islands of MItylene and Chios. 
The normal population was more than doubled and the 
suffering Indescribable. There was little to eat, limited 
sleeping quarters, and the women and children were so 
reduced by weeks of hunger and horror at Smyrna, that 
thousands of them were sick. 

Under the leadership of Colonel Plastiras, the Greek 
military, naval and air forces at Chios and MItylene re- 
volted. Like a great carrier pigeon, an airplane from Chios 
flew over Athens and other parts of Greece, scattering a 
manifesto and calling upon the Greek people to arise and 
save the. country. This call was answered promptly. Con- 
stantine abdicated, George was proclaimed King and Plas- 
tiras returned to Athens as Dictator. 

All this had happened before the Litchfield reached 
Constantinople on October 2, 1922. Dr. Elliott, who was 
Director of the American Women’s Hospitals In that field, 
was waiting for me. After a conference I left for home to 
secure funds and she went to MItylene to establish a medical 
relief service. Including hospitals, clinics and milk depots. 



For a month or so the different American relief agencies 
continued to work under the Disaster Relief Committee. 
In addition to funds, each organization contributed such 
service as it was best equipped to render. 

As a measure of order gradually emerged from neces- 
sarily chaotic beginnings, it was found that the American 
Women’s Hospitals was carrying practically all of the 
American medical work conducted for the relief of the 
sick in this unprecedented emergency. 

By a combination of unforeseen circumstances, we were 
in the field when the call came. On the Islands of the 
iEgean Sea and along the shores of Greece, Christian 
women and children, driven from their homes in Asia Minor, 
were dying by thousands of hunger and disease. Shortage 
of water increased the suffering. There was no prophet 
with a divining rod to strike sweet water from the rocks, or 
bring down manna from the heavens. 

The lives of the outcasts depended upon money — the 
almighty dollar, shilling or drachma. We dared not wait 
to count the cost of service in advance. Our small reserve 
was spent at once, and our prayers were for money, and 
more money! Our sole resource was the generosity of 
friends at home, and our faith was more than justified. 
Week after week, month after month, a stream of life- 
saving messages went out from our little headquarters at 
New York to our director in the field, reading in substance 
as follows: Ten thousand dollars more available — twenty- 
five — fifty — a hundred — two hundred and fifty thousand — 
half a million I — And we came to believe that Jesus loved 
the rich young man because he was worthy of the steward- 
ship of great wealth. 

Our first hospitals, with dispensaries and milk stations, 
were started during the early days of October, 1922, on 
the small Islands of Mitylene and Chios. Small? — Mlty- 
lene, old Lesbos, the Island which produced Sappho, and 
where Aristotle passed his honeymoon: 

- * ^ 
<- j; ij 

,, ^ bJO 


Refugees in Transit on the Island of Mitylene, Waiting to be Transferred to Other Parts of Greece, 



Him rival to the Gods I place, 

Him loftier yet if loftier be, 

Who Lesbia, sits before thy face. 

Who listens and ■who looks on thee. 

Small? — Chios, the local habitation of Homer, the incor- 
porate spirit of poetry? The “blind man who dwells on 
rocky Chios; his songs deserve the prize for all time to 
come.” The size of these islands depends upon our indi- 
vidual measures of magnitude. In area they are very 
small, but in cultural influence they are as wide as the 
civilized world. 

It may be impossible to hurry the East, but it is possible 
to speed up a bit in near eastern countries, as the follow- 
ing material taken from letters of Dr. Elliott, written dur- 
ing the first weeks of October, 1922, seems to indicate: 

Mitylene, October 3, 1922. 

At 3 A. M. we arrived with our thirteen cases of food and 
medical supplies. It was a balmy night. The moon was shining 
so I tucked myself between the cases, while Mac^ went out to 
reconnoitre. I was discovered by a refugee, wbo had been 
sleeping on the quay. He had three children with him and 
his seventy-year-old mother. All his children were born in 
Rochester, New York. His wife was dead. He had received 
one pound of bread that day for his entire family. Some days, 
he said, they didn’t get anything to eat. He had owned his 
own farm near Smyrna, but had been robbed of everything. 
His two sisters had been killed at Smyrna, and his brothers had 

We reached the American House® before daylight. There 
was not a sound. Only the odor, that unforgettable refugee 
odor, to tell the story. A hasty survey through the camps was 
made a few hours later. Many of the refugees were sick, and 
one poor woman in labor was out in the park, which was a mud 
puddle on account of the morning’s rain. 

• ••««•••• 

^ B. D. MacDonald of the Red Cross. 

’ Disaster Relief. 



Among the exiles I found Cornelius. He was my right hand 
man at the Ismid Hospital, whom I had not seen since that 
mad night when he fled with all the rest. He has married 
Araxia, or<e of our Ismid nurses. I told him to come down and 
get a job and bring Araxia. Such luck! — for them, and for 
us. We shall have at least two trained workers. We trained 
them ourselves last year. 

• •••••*•* 

October 4. 

The Governor-General has asked us to take charge of the 
refugee medical work. Buildings have been selected for refugee 
hospitals and clinics. Whitewashers are already on the job. 
Fifteen physicians, all refugees from Smyrna, have enrolled for 

I spent the morning buying materials for mattresses, sheets, 
towels and nightgowns. ... A committee of Greek ladies with 
sewing machines volunteered for work, and before night mat- 
tresses and sheets were ready for fifty beds. 

Chios, October 5. 

Thousands of people are sleeping in the streets and suffering 
for want of water as well as food. Still, health conditions are 
better than at Mitylene, because of a better local sanitary and 
medical service. A fine group of buildings, including a hos- 
pital, has been assigned by the government for refugee relief 

A large number of little children, who were lost by their 
parents during the rush from Smyrna, have been taken into 
one of these buildings. . . . There is one group of six, the oldest 
of whom is a girl of twelve years. They belonged to a wealthy 
Smyrna family, and before they left their home their father, 
fearing that they might be separated in the struggle to escape 
from the burning city, concealed seven hundred Turkish pounds 
on each child. The parents were both killed, and all the 
children w’ere robbed before they left Smyrna, save little 
Patricledes, four years of age, who reached Chios with his 
money, about five hundred dollars, safely tucked away in his 

October 9. 

When w’e reached Mitylene practically nothing was being 
done for the care of the refugee sick. The wretched municipal 
hospital was crowded to the doors, and people on all sides beg- 



ging and praying for help. The sick were lying in the streets, 
and women giving birth to babies in the open places without 
help or protection. Thank Goodness ! To-day we have a hun- 
dred-bed hospital, where maternity cases are given first place. 

• ••••••• 

I have never seen so many babies in my life, and all of them 
sick. Poor little things I They don’t cry. They just whimper. 
For weeks these people have been hungry. Nursing mothers by 
the hundreds have gone three and four days straight without 
food, and now what do they get? Half a pound of bread daily. 
• ••••••• 

We are carrying all the medical work of the Disaster Relief 
Committee, and we must limit ourselves to the medical end 
of this service. In connection with our baby clinic, as a medical 
measure, we have opened a milk depot where the babies get one 
feeding daily of warm, fresh milk. We also maintain a place 
where the nursing mothers of sick babies have a roof over their 
heads and get a little extra nourishment. . . . Let me impress 
upon you all that there are thousands of young mothers with 
families, whose husbands and brothers have been taken by the 
Turks. These women are utterly destitute and utterly helpless. 
• •■••••• 

I saw some dreadful cases in the hospital to-day. Several 
young girls, the victims of Turkish outrage. One of them 
will probably die. They tell hideous, unprintable stories. . . . 
There is one little girl, ten years old, with an infected bayonet 
wound in her back, and a macerated arm from the blow of a 
gun butt. The Turk who attacked her killed her father and 
mother. She knew this man. He was from her own village. 
... I shall never get used to the look of these children when 
they are asked about their mothers. I have never seen children 
under ten cry while telling their tragic stories. Their eyes 
grow wide, their mouths twitch, and with a look more of 
wonder than of terror, they almost whisper, “I saw her killed 
and I ran away.” 

• ••••••• 

One of our doctors spends his full time going from camp to 
camp looking after the general sanitation and seeing the sick, 
who are bedridden. “Bedridden” is not the word, for these 
poor things have had no beds for weeks, and many of them no 
blankets. Our housekeeper was a woman of wealth a few weeks 


ago. She had a home with ten bedrooms. Her family slept 
fifteen nights in the streets of Mitylene without so much as a 
blanket. Now they have a room where ten people sleep to- 
gether. She is sleeping with us, of course, and we have finally 
managed to give her a bed. Yesterday she begged the privilege 
of giving her blanket to her sister, who is sick. We gave her 
a straw mattress and blanket for her sister, and to-day she told 
me that her sister w'as so happy and had slept so well last 
night. Poor things ! A few weeks ago they had more wealth 
than I had ever thought of having, and there are hundreds, yes 
thousands, like them. 

There were three American destroyers in the harbor this 
morning. They didn’t stay long. They are busy cruising up 
and down the Asiatic coast picking up refugees. ... A horrible 
mess comes to us. There is an increasing number of sick. . . . 
With a lOO-bed hospital, two clinics running full force all 
day, and our milk depots for babies, we feel that we can relieve 
a lot of suffering. 

October 18. 

No one in America can imagine the horror of things here. 
There are 300,000 refugees or more on the islands, and 600,000 
trekking across Thrace in search of safety. It is tragic to put 
these poor things, who have been hungry so long, on a barren 
island, which hardly produces enough food for a goat. It will 
take all the relief organizations in the world to prevent whole- 
sale death this winter. . . . Every bit of American medical 
work so far has been done by the American Women’s Hospitals. 

. . . My boat stopped at Rodosta, Eastern Thrace. The refu- 
gees are leaving. They will all be out in a few days, so I told 
Dr. Baheekian to close our w’ork and report to me at Athens. 

Mrs. Byrtene Anderson, Superintendent, Public Health 
Nursing Service, Jacksonville, Florida, was our pioneer local 
director, organizer and worker at Mitylene, Chios and 
Crete, one place after another. Her personal devotion to 
the details of her job was an important factor in the prompt 
functioning of our hospitals, clinics and baby stations on 
these islands. In less than a week from the time our first 
worker set foot on Mitylene, we had a hospital of 100 beds 
running to capacity, two baby feeding stations, and two 


clinics in the center of the town, where approximately four 
hundred patients were cared for daily. 

The fame of this service spread to Chios, and resulted in 
a dramatic incident in connection with the opening of our 
first clinic and milk station on that island. There were 
thousands of sick and hungry little ones, and the mothers, 
crazed with grief, fearing that the milk and medicine would 
give out, rushed the clinic with their babies in their arms. 
This struggle was basic and terrible. The female of the 
species moved by the instinct of race preservation, fighting 
for her young. The Governor was notified and sent soldiers 
to restore order, establish lanes and maintain the line. 

Another clinic and milk station was opened to divide the 
crowd and make it possible to get the day’s work done. 
Within the week our hospital at Chios was functioning, and 
just then a frantic call for help was received from Crete by 
wire. About 35,000 people had been thrown on that island 
without any provision whatever being made for them. 
Shortly after the receipt of this message, a refugee ship 
loaded to the gunwales appeared at Chios, and a cry of 
protest went up from the island. Chios was already 
swamped. “Move on! Move on!” — The old, old order, 
and Crete was decided upon as the easiest dumping ground. 

“Who is ready to go to Crete?” That was the question. 

“I am!” answered Mrs. Anderson, and she dashed to the 
Red Cross to beg additional supplies. With 400 cases of 
milk, eight cases of medicines, 100 sacks of rice, 100 beds, 
400 blankets and 91 bales of old clothes, she sailed away to 
Crete a few hours later. 

Tucked in among two thousand human beings which 
blackened the deck of that ship. It might have been hard 
for her co-workers on shore waving good-by, and wishing 
Godspeed, to identify her In the distance. But there was 
an outstanding and distinguishing difference between this 
American woman and the refugees — she had a white hand- 


“the quick or the dead” — TURKISH JUSTIFICATION 

“the terrible meek” A JOCULAR FATE THE 




T he holocaust at Smyrna marked the beginning of a 
general exodus of the Christian people from all parts 
of Turkey. With one accord, they fled to the nearest ports 
in a frenzy of fear. Men of military age, 17 to 45, were 
“detained,” but the women, children, aged and sick were 
“permitted” to depart. The word “permitted” In this con- 
nection is the grimmest jest in history. They did not wait 
to sell their homes or auction their household goods. In 
many instances it was a case of the “quick or the dead,” and 
the quick lived to tell the tale. 

I Immediately after the evacuation of Smyrna, the Council 
of Mudania was held, and the Turks demanded Eastern 
Thrace and other territory evacuated of its Christian popu- 
lation. This was straight to the point, and cleared up any 
doubts regarding the purpose of the new Turkish Gov- 
ernment. Twenty-eight Christian deputies, representing 
Thrace in the Greek National Assembly, cabled the Presi- 
dent of the United States and Congress on October 7, 1922, 
seeking protection for the Greek, Armenian and other Chris- 
tian populations should that area be turned over to the 
Turks. Eastern Thrace was returned to the Turks. The 



first article of the Convention of Mudania, October 8, 1922, 
provided for Greek evacuation within fifteen days, and the 
flood began. The Christian population of Eastern Thrace, 
about half a million, moved into old Greece. 

All the world. Including the elements, seemed leagued 
against these people. The rain poured in torrents while 
hundreds of thousands struggled through the mud with 
their few cattle, sheep, ox-carts and movable property. 
Roads and bridges were washed out and the country was 
swamped by this unprecedented downpour. Still the refu- 
gees dragged slowly and laboriously toward the border, 
their one thought being to cross the rising I/Iaritza River 
before the Turkish troops reached Eastern Thrace. 

The New Turkish Government was determined to rid 
the country of troublesome Christian minorities, and from 
a Turkish point of view, there was ample justification for 
this policy. During the World War, while Turkey was 
fighting on the side of the Central Powers, the Christian 
population within her borders, encouraged to believe that 
the success of the Allies would mean religious and national 
freedom for them, probably aided and abetted these forces 
whenever they got the chance — and little good it did them 
in the end. 

If home, sweet home, is “God’s country,” and life on 
earth the greatest of all gifts, these poor creatures might 
better have turned Moslem and fought the Allies to a finish. 
The Emperor of Germany, at the time of his visit to Turkey 
several years before the World War, gave some significant 
advice in a public speech at the Tomb of Saladin, the great 
Mohammedan warrior who crushed the Crusaders. “Chris- 
tians,” he said, “should either embrace Islam or leave the 
country to the Moslems.” Those who took this advice and 
served loyally on the side of Turkey and the Central Powers 
when “Der Tag” came, were saved, but those who did not 
were sacrificed. 

These people may have contributed to the defeat of 



Turkey during the World War. And, judged by our stand- 
ards as applied to persons within our borders suspected of 
disloyalty while this country was at war, there is something 
to be said for the Turks, but under the circumstances we are 
not the ones to say it. 

The Turks might truthfully say for themselves: Hun- 
dreds of years ago we conquered Asia Minor (Anatolia) 
and we have tried to persuade all the inhabitants to adopt 
our religion and become one with us. The Christian sub- 
jects of Turkey have always been untrustworthy. They are 
the very seed of sedition at the core of the country, and, but 
for their faithlessness, our standards might be waving over 
the world. Century after century, they have rejected our 
good offices. They have conspired against us. Their ruling 
passion is hatred of everything Turkish, and their actuating 
motive from generation to generation has been secession. 
They want a country of their own with a government and 
religion after their own image, which would be in a position 
to do us damage at all times. 

Christians! They are the terrible meek! Under their 
mask of submission they are a stiff-necked, rebellious people. 
Gratitude is not in them. They have always been a menace 
to the Empire, and after five hundred years, we have de- 
cided to have done with them once for all, to exterminate 
them or drive them out and let the people of other nations 
have a taste of their quality. 

This-is what was done, and Turkey is not without sym- 
pathizers in her radical treatment of subjects with an inex- 
tinguishable devotion to their own national and religious 
ideals. But if any civilized country. Great Britain or the 
United States, for instance, should adopt this policy in 
regard to troublesome or unassimilable minorities, the world 
would see clearly and speak righteously. 

Turkish patients in different countries have been popular 
with the personnel of the American Women’s Hospitals. 
They wash their hands before they eat without being told 


twice, and there is something agreeable about them which 
goes with generations of power. At Ismid the Turks had 
the power to close our doors, just as they have the power 
at present to close any American door In Turkey, but there 
was nothing they were not willing to do to make things 
pleasant. Our Investment was comparatively small, but 
there Is something psychologically binding and blinding in 
any investment. It was the province of our personnel to 
care for the sick regardless of nationality, and the good of 
such service In any country does not permit of a scrutinizing, 
critical attitude toward the government, no matter what 
that government may sanction or put Into action. 

The Turks are a courteous people to outsiders. What 
though their courtesy be tempered with pillage and mas- 
sacre, so long as these evils are In another direction? It is 
hard to hate people for what they do to others while we 
enjoy their good will and good offices. Some of the Mace- 
donians and Albanians along the new borders of Serbia 
were quick with their knives and guns. They helped to 
keep our surgical wards full, and they, no doubt, deserved 
to be hung, but chetas, comitadjis and highbinders of dif- 
ferent varieties, have always enjoyed a certain popularity. 

The Turks are good fighters and generous enemies, ac- 
cording to the reports of the American, English and French 
soldiers. These are men a Turk may look straight In the 
eye, or glance upward toward, without losing caste In his 
own soul. They have never been his subjects or his slaves. 
But woe to the Armenian or Anatolian of Greek blood, who 
wars against the Turk and falls Into his hands! 

The arrogance of Turkey following her conquests of 
highly civilized countries seems, at this distance, like the 
manifestation of a national inferiority complex. It is easy 
to call a subject people “cattle,” but if the “cattle” are 
proud of their pedigrees and unwilling to mix blood with 
their drivers, there is a reflected insult in the name. The 
Anatolians would probably have been one people centuries 



ago but for religious incompatibility. The difference in the 
religious status of the Christian and Mohammedan woman 
has played a big part in this drama of a thousand years. 
The religious status of the Christian woman has separated 
her from the Mohammedan Turk by the width of heaven, 
but the comparative lack of religious status of any woman 
from the standpoint of the Turk has made the Christian 
woman, who happened to be a Turkish subject, fair game. 
The Turk has probably felt morally justified in taking her 
perforce out of a life which he regarded as altogether 
wrong, and allowing her to share the blessings of a righteous 
institution under his own loving care and guidance. 

From a racial standpoint, polygamy and fecund concubin- 
age, voluntary or involuntary, has helped eliminate the old, 
original Turk. His face has changed. The chances are It 
has improved. His features testify against him. The blood 
of his fathers has been diluted almost to the vanishing point, 
but these victorious Invaders have survived in spirit. A 
jocular fate has overtaken the Turk. Blood and bone, he 
is the man he most despises. Ethnologically, he has almost 
disappeared, and for this he should be thankful, if the 
Mongol types I saw among the Turkish soldiers at Smyrna 
are true survivals of the old originals from Central Asia. 
In any case, the appearance of the present day Turk In 
Constantinople, Crete, and along the coast of Anatolia, 
would indicate that the predominating strains in his circula- 
tion are Greek and Armenian. 

Assuming that a corresponding number of male and female 
Turkish children have been born since the Turks invaded 
Asia Minor, and that the majority of Turks have had at 
least one Turkish wife, most of the plural wives must have 
been secured from subject peoples. The mother of Abdul 
Hamid is said to have been an Armenian, and this suggests 
that an Armenian mixture sometimes produces a terrible 
Turk or Kurd, as the case may be. According to Talcott 
Williams, in 1922 there were at least 100,000 Armenian 

Trekking to the Sea. 

Bound for “Somewhere” in Greece. 

Sacrificial Lamhs (This Generation). 

Driven from Home, Bereft of BIusbands and Sons, But Not Conquered. 



The Face of Mohammed is Sad. 

What Next? 

Kema'l the Conqueror. 

(“The Great Ghazi”) 

This colossal graven image has been unveiled 
on Seraglio Point, Constantinople. 

The Avenger Cometh — 

Fr.oATiNo IIei.l.s. 

'No food — no water — smallpox and typhus fever.' 


women held by the Kurds and bearing children to their 
Moslem masters. A formidable army of “irregulars” may 
easily be the outcome of this phase of the deportations. 

In addition to this continuous maternal dilution, there 
has been a large number of converts to the Moslem religion 
from the Christian populations of conquered countries. 
“Accept the Faith, pay Tribute or Die.” This was the 
slogan during the Moslem flood. Nobody wanted to die, 
and the men who believed in a business administration 
promptly accepted the Faith and collected tribute from the 
less adaptable. Anyone who has followed our newspaper 
reports on the subject of the reduction of taxes and surtaxes 
during the last few years can readily understand why so 
many men moved to the side that did not have to pay tribute. 

Then there were the Janizaries. What a stream of 
good Christian blood, if religion gets into the blood, was 
poured into the veins of Turkey from this source. For 
three hundred years or more the standing army of the 
Sultan was recruited largely by a forced levy on the male 
children of Christian people in subjugated countries. These 
boys were selected for physical perfection, taken from their 
parents when they were very young, brought up in the 
Moslem faith, trained from the beginning in the arts of 
war, and the sword of Islam placed in their hands. 

An invincible army was developed in this way, and men 
of Christian lineage carried the Crescent to the north, south, 
east and west. Under Suleiman the Magnificent, it looked 
as though they were destined to conquer the world, but in 
this supreme crisis the Christian nations stood together, 
the tide turned in the opposite direction, and ebbed steadily 
until the present decade. The Janizaries, undoubtedly re- 
cruited their harems with the most attractive Christian 
women from the lands they conquered, regardless of the 
rules concerning marriage, which were infringed with all 
other rules as they grew in power. 

The Turks have no family names, and their family trees, 



with promiscuous roots and branches, are genealogical jum 
gles. Tracing a Turkish family tree from twig to root, one 
not infrequently finds oneself in Spain, Albania and some- 
times in France, but far more often in Greece and Armenia. 

“Kemal” is not the family name of the Great Ghazi, but 
a nickname given him by his teacher, at the military school 
which he attended, as a tribute to his ability. It is difficult 
to obtain authentic information regarding this Man of 
Destiny, who seems to have sprung full-armed like Minerva 
from a Greek storm cloud split by lightning. His father 
is said to have been a Turkish customs official at the port 
of Salonica, and beyond that is the dark age of the family. 
Where did he get his blue eyes, fair complexion, executive 
ability and general style? Nobody seems to know. Some 
of his forebears may have been Circassian, or more likely 
Balkan Christians. In any case, Turkey is to be congratu- 
lated upon having a leader of Kemal’s caliber at the time 
of her desperate need — which may not have seemed so 
desperate to those familiar with the course of international 

But this Great Ghazi is not the first and only Turkish 
reformer. There was Selim the Grim, and Mahmud the 
Reformer, who was also known as the Shadow of God on 
Earth. He was part French. His mother, Aimee de 
Rivery, was a French Creole born on the Island of Mar- 
tinique, captured by pirates, sold as a slave, and finally 
presented to the Sultan of Turkey. This Sultana and the 
Empress Josephine were children together on this side of 
the Atlantic, and their friendship became a link between 
Turkey and France in later years. Mahmud the Reformer 
was on the job during the Greek War of Independence, 
1821-29, and the final clean-up In 1922 may be regarded as 
a centennial celebration and finish of his work, which was 
interrupted by outside Interference. 

The Turks had ruled over all of Greece for about four 
hundred years at that time, and they honestly thought it 


was their country. The Turkish Commandant lived on the 
Acropolis in the Propylaea, the Erechtheion served as his 
harem, and with the addition of a redeeming minarette, the 
Parthenon made an acceptable mosque. The Maid of 
Athens was a sort of maid of all work in the Turkish 
domestic service, but she could never be trusted. 

After the manner of patriots the world around, in all 
ages, the Greeks rose up one fine morning in 1821, and 
said, “Give us liberty or give us death,” and they smote 
the oppressor hip and thigh and cut his collective throat, 
killing the Sheik-ul-Islam and many others in and out of 
authority. Their reward was a breath of liberty before the 
tide turned and the massacres in reprisal set in. 

“Giaour!” groaned the Turk in despair, for there was 
not enough Greek blood in the whole world to wipe out 
this debt at the prevailing rate of exchange. A reform 
pogrom was decided upon. A thorough pruning and spray- 
ing of the imperial tree seemed necessary for the health 
of the empire. There was a massacre of the Christians at 
Constantinople; the Patriarch Gregorius was hanged in the 
doorway of the Patriarchate on Easter Sunday; several 
Bishops were hanged on the same day; the entire Christian 
population of the Island of Chios, rocky Chios where 
Homer sung, was killed or sold into slavery, and during this 
general reform the insubordinate Janizaries were oppor- 
tunely wiped out. 

Mahmud had the spirit, vision, and nerve, and with the 
help of Mehemet Ali of Egypt, the “exterminator of in- 
fidels,” he might have antedated the work of this decade by 
a hundred years with a saving of large territory. But 
champions of Christianity and Liberty, including Daniel 
Webster, arose in other countries. Byron died fighting for 
Greece with pen and sword, and his pen was the mightier 
weapon. Finally, the Great Powers took a hand, and after 
four hundred years of national subjugation, Greece, reduced 
in size, was reestablished upon the earth. 



There were no oil scandals In connection with the Greek 
War of Independence a hundred years ago. Wind was 
the principal motive power of the world at that time, and 
there was no getting a corner on It. And the mistaken 
policies of the American missionaries were not responsible 
in any way for the massacres. On the contrary, these mas- 
sacres attracted the first American missionaries to Turkey. 

During the past hundred years, the English-speaking 
people of the world have spent a lot of money and fine talk 
on the Christian minorities of Turkey, but when it came to 
real protection it was the Bear that walked like a man who 
was there first with the ammunition. Peter the Great and 
his successors regarded themselves as the divinely appointed 
protectors of the Greek Orthodox Christians In Turkey. 
A vaguely defined protectorate was secured by Russia in 
1774, but whenever the Bear put out his protective and 
prehensory paw in the direction of Turkey, the Lion rushed 
to the rescue, and between them the Christian minorities 
were preserved. With Russia engaged in the World War, 
followed by a revolution which overthrew the Government 
and the Church, the Christian minorities of Turkey were 

France and England have mandates to fight for in Asia 
Minor now, and the Christian minorities have been dis- 
persed. Some of these people lost faith, turned to Bol- 
shevism, and are developing the Armenian Soviet State, 
while many of those who took refuge in Greece are still 
struggling for existence In the “wilderness” of Macedonia. 

Much is made of the fact that the Greeks Invaded Ana- 
tolia in 1919. There are two sides and many angles to this 
question. The Greeks contend that they were there first, 
and that the Turks from Asia invaded their country at a 
comparatively recent date, about a thousand years ago. The 
majority of the population of Smyrna was Greek Orthodox 
when the Greek army landed there in 1919 with Allied 


The Greeks certainly were in Asia Minor during the 
Golden Age of Greece and long before, but the French and 
British have no ancestral roots in the soil to justify their 
present occupation. The Anatolian Christians of Greek 
ancestry have never been able to forget that that was their 
fatherland, the birthplace of some of their greatest men, 
the kindergarten of the Christian religion, and here they 
stayed until the people of Smyrna were driven Into the sea 
by the Turks, under Mustapha Kemal Pasha, while great 
nations with brand new mandates in Asia Minor main- 
tained neutrality. 

Imagination is said to be the highest intellectual faculty. 
Let us be Intellectual for a moment. Let us Imagine an 
alien race conquering our country a hundred years from now, 
tabooing our religion and making us over In Its own Image. 
A thousand years hence we shall still be fighting for the 
“Land of the Pilgrim’s Pride,” or our stock has no lasting 

The Caliph Haroun Alraschid of the Arabian Nights 
whose capital was at Bagdad, was a far less picturesque 
figure than the Great Ghazi of the present day, whose 
capital is at Angora. Alraschid was a real historical caliph 
who survives in a book of miracles, but he never attempted 
anything so miraculous as the modernization of Turkey 
overnight, after the model of Japan. This takes magic. 
The Church and State have been — well, not exactly divided. 
Kemal is the Church and State, a decided improvement on 
the old Church and State, according to the Kemallsts, and 
a difference of opinion in this respect Is keeping the hang- 
man busy in Turkey. 

A dictator Is a dictator, and it doesn’t matter much 
whether he Is called a Sultan, Czar, King, President or 
Prime Minister, except that It Is harder to dislodge a hered- 
itary ruler with family roots In the job. Kemal Is one of 
the most effective dictators In this day of dictators. He 
knows the strong and weak points of his people and how 



to appeal to their prejudices. He is a good campaigner, 
military and political, and a ruthless autocrat. Dressed in 
a modern business suit, he goes from place to place telling 
the Turks to change their clothes as a sign of progress, and 
especially to discard their fezes, which, he says, are of 
Greek origin. This fetches them. But in order to get rid 
of every strain of Greek and Armenian they will have to 
change the marrow of their bones. 

The difference in bearing and behavior of the Moslem 
and Christian peoples of Turkey so generally remarked 
may be the difference between hundreds of years of power 
and hundreds of years of a peculiar form of oppression, plus 
the influence of a dominant religion. Would the fact that 
the honest, outspoken, self-respecting youth rarely lived to 
transmit his characteristics, while the cunning, subservient 
strains were transmitted generation after generation, effect 
the traits of a people? If so, the criticisms of the Turko- 
phile against the former Christian inhabitants of Anatolia, 
involves a more monstrous accusation against the Turks 
than Is ordinarily made by their enemies. 

The Russian exiles in Southeastern Europe and In China 
are demonstrating, year after year, the effect of power and 
lack thereof on the human spirit. During the past decade 
there have been millions of refugees of different classes from 
different countries, and Russia has provided the nobility. 
How brave they were in the beginning, those Russian exiles 
of noble-birth ! How debonair ! How different they seemed 
from the common horde of refugees! With what grace 
they accepted their fate! “To the manner born,” we mur- 
mured Inanely, and lucky the ones who escaped to America, 
or died while the manner lasted. 

“Death hath two hands to slay with,” one for the body 
and the other for the spirit. During eight years of beggary 
in hungry countries, the manifest difference and nobility of 
the Russian exiles, as compared with other exiles, has been 
gradually passing away. They are no longer exiles. Most 


of them are refugees in every sense of the word. “The 
manner born” was the unconscious indication of the power 
and privilege they had enjoyed for generations. A com- 
plete reversal of fortune has already broken the spirit of 
most of the survivors, and brought about a pitiful change 
in this overrated manner. Cold, hunger, and disease are 
dreadful levelers. They level down to the depths of the 
soul. It may take three generations to make a gentleman, 
but the vicissitudes of war and revolution have demon- 
strated that either a lady or a gentleman can be unmade 
in far less time. 




G REECE was paying a high price commercially and 
otherwise, for her humanity in receiving the outcast 
Christian subjects of Turkey, which other nations refused 
to harbor. Most of these people were called unredeemed 
Greeks, but they had never lived in Greece, and many of 
them could not speak the language. They came by the 
thousands, tens of thousands, hundreds of thousands, and 
pestilential diseases came with them. The Armenians came 
also and long after the saturation point had been passed, 
these unfortunate people poured into the country. 

In November, 1922, the Near East Relief Committee 
began bringing Armenian children from Anatolian orphan- 
ages into Greece, and the American Women’s Hospitals 
agreed to carry the medical end of this service in accordance 
with the proposals contained in the following letter, written 
by Mr. H. C. Jaquith, Managing Director of the Near East 
Relief in the field : 

November 29, 1922. 

Dr. Mabel Elliott, 

The American Women’s Hospitals, 

Constantinople, Turkey. 

Dear Dr. Elliott: 

During the last few years the American Women’s Hospitals 
has been closely affiliated with the Near East Relief. Its cooper- 
ation has been most helpful and much appreciated. Our con- 
tacts have been largely through Dr. Lovejoy and yourself, 
although we recognize that there is a large and interested con- 



stituency in America who are carefully following your splendid 
work and assure you of continued support. 

• ••• ••••* 

We are faced with a new problem. The orphans which 
have been in Anatolia are finding a new home in Greece. The 
children still remain with the Committee, and we believe that the 
opportunity of self-expression and future development under 
conditions which have been offered in Greece, will arouse suffi- 
cient interest in America to furnish the Committee with funds 
and good will to complete its program. 

We trust that you will share in this new opportunity in 
Greece and continue the full and unqualified support of the 
American Women’s Hospitals in this area. I am led to make 
the following suggestions : 

1st: The Near East Relief requests, through you, that the 
American Women’s Hospitals assume the full medical 
responsibility for all the orphans and Near East Relief work 
that may be established in Greece. 

(a) Salaries and maintenance of American doctors and nurses 
necessary for the health and welfare of the children under 
our care. 

and : The salaries and maintenance of the native doctors and 
nurses necessary to supplement the American doctors and 
nurses for the maintenance of health and welfare of the 
children under the care of the Near East. 

3rd : The medicines and medical supplies necessary for the above 
mentioned purpose. 

It being understood that the Near East Relief will continue 
the feeding and the housing of the children, and that the Ameri- 
can Women’s Hospitals will assume the full medical responsi- 
bility, we at the same time request that you personally become 
the medical director of our orphans and orphanages. 

We trust that this request of the Near East Relief will be 
met with a warm and ready response on the part of the Ameri- 
can Women’s Hospitals, with whom our relations always have 
been most cordial. 

Very truly yours, 

(Signed) H. C. Jaquith, 

Managing Director. 

This plan was adopted and the infirmaries connected with 
the Near East Relief orphanages in Greece were organized 



and conducted by the American Women’s Hospitals. Build- 
ings were provided by the Greek Government in most in- 
stances, rations by the Near East Relief, special sick diet 
and all expenses connected with the care of the sick were 
carried by our organization from November, 1922, until 
August, 1923. Dr. Mabel E. Elliott, who was the head 
of the American Women’s Hospitals in Greece, was, of 
course, the head of this work, as well as of our independent 
hospital service and our cooperative work with other organ- 
izations. From August, 1920, until August, 1923, Dr. Elli- 
ott was in our employ and the budget for the work in which 
she was engaged, including her salary and all ex:penses, was 
provided by the American Women’s Hospitals. 

We were conducting twelve small orphanage hospitals 
for the care of the sick among approximately 10,000 chil- 
dren at the time of our final report to the Near East Relief 
Committee in August, 1923. The general health of the 
children was good, but a large number of them were infected 
with scabies, favus, and trachoma requiring daily treat- 
ments. These treatments were administered by refugee 
nurses in a systematic way, which made it possible to care 
for enormous numbers in a very short time. Malaria had 
developed among the orphans at Corinth and measures 
were adopted to stamp it out. The following is quoted from 
the last American Women’s Hospitals’ report made by Dr. 
Mabel E. Elliott: 

Malaria at Corinth : One of the most difficult problems lately 
has been the malaria at Corinth. Hundreds of cases came down 
suddenly, including Miss Cushman. Investigation revealed ter- 
tian parasite in all cases. Examinations of blood of cases in 
villages found the same form, and swamp was located two 
kilometers from the orphanage and laundry water lying on the 
surface also contained larvae. At first it was hoped that cleaning 
up the laundry w^ater would do aw’ay with the breeding, but 
later when more and more cases developed and finally the aestivo- 
autumnal form was found as well as the tertian, it was decided 


to drain the swamp and this is now under the process of 

On page 34 of the Near East Relief report to Congress 
for the year 1922 the following paragraph appears : 

In Greece the medical work of the Near East Relief is under 
the direction of the American Women’s Hospitals, which pro- 
vides personnel and supports the medical work under the super- 
vision of Dr. Mabel Elliott. During the year under review, 
the American Women’s Hospitals has also financed and directed 
the medical work in the Caucasus. 

Dr. Ruth Parmelee of the American Board of Foreign 
Missions, who had been deported from Harpoot, Turkey, 
went to Salonica, Greece, in October, 1922, to help the out- 
casts from the country where she was born — the people 
among whom her father and mother had worked as mis- 
sionaries for forty years. With the assistance of refugee 
physicians and nurses some of whom had served with her at 
Harpoot, Dr. Parmelee organized our medical work in the 
Salonica District, including camp service, clinics, and a hos- 
pital of a hundred beds, with a nurses’ training class. The 
budget for this work, with the exception of Dr. Parmelee’s 
salary, was provided by the American Women’s Hospitals. 

Dr. Olga Stasny of Omaha, a member of our French unit 
in 1918, was called from Prague to assist Dr. Elliott in 
organizing the work of the American Women’s Hospitals in 
Athens, Piraeus and neighboring districts. With these expe- 
rienced women at the head of our service, order was soon 
established, and about the end of the year 1922, Dr. Elliott 
wrote : 

Five thousand people receive medical aid daily, and a thou- 
sand sick people sleep between clean sheets in Greece because of 
our work here. 

Week after week, health conditions were getting worse. 
Quarantine facilities were overtaxed at all ports, and mallg- 



nant diseases were developing in different localities. Many 
of the tourist companies had cut Athens off their schedules. 
A general quarantine against the country seemed Imminent, 
and In self-protection, about the beginning of January, 
1923, Greece temporarily closed her doors to refugees 
from the Pontus, whence came most of the pestilential 

This was the crowning calamity. Thousands of people, 
packed deck and hold In cargo ships, short of food and 
water, and with typhus fever and smallpox among them, 
were already on the Tlgean Sea when the last door of the 
world was closed In their faces. Greece had joined hands 
with the other nations and the only haven of refuge was 
shut. Action along this line had been anticipated by relief 
workers and representatives of countries, anxious to save 
face and fortune, by minimizing the disaster which had 
overtaken the Christian population of Turkey. What was 
to be done? If the refugees could only be gotten ashore 
and sent into the remote districts of Macedonia, where 
press agents, tourists and Investigators never penetrated on 
account of the malarial mosquitoes and other dangers, they 
might quietly pass away without shocking the sensibilities of 
the world at large. 

But there they were at the height of the tourist season 
on the surface of the beautiful, blue sea, flying signals of 
distress conveying with slight variation, the following Infor- 
mation: “Three thousand refugees aboard. No food. No 
water. Smallpox and typhus fever.” 

As a climax to all their misfortunes, the old cry, “Un- 
clean! Unclean!” was raised against the outcasts. There 
was no place for them, dead or alive. The land refused to 
receive the living and the sea refused to receive the dead. 
Bodies thrown overboard with lungs full of air and no lead 
on their heels would not sink. This was embarrassing. The 
form of a little child with hair floating like seaweed on the 
surface of the water Is a witness hard to refute, and a small- 

Three Elliotts, Different Families, Served with the A. \V. H. 

Dr. Mary H. Elliott 
( Chicago. 1 11. ) 


Dr. Mabel E. Elliott 

( Benton Harbor, Jlich.) 

Turkey, Armenia, Greece. 

Dr. Lucy M. Elliott 
( Flint. Mich. ) 

An A. W. H. nurse and refugee child talking with an Evzone, 
Greek Highlander. 

Miss Frances MacQuaide and Refugee Nurses at Corfu, 1923. 

Breaking Quarantine. 

Isolation pen used for refugee cliildrcn recovering from contagious 
diseases, Athens, 1923. 



pox corpse on the crest of the waves is a horrible “sight” 
for a tourist. 

From the beginning of the exodus of the Christian minor- 
ities from Turkish territory after the burning of Smyrna, 
the Greek government had carried the greater part of the 
burden, financially and otherwise. The refugees were not 
only received in Greece, but the government furnished 
ships for transportation, such housing as was possible, and 
a dole to thousands of utterly destitute people to help stave 
off starvation until assimilation could be effected. The 
achievements of Americans engaged in facilitating this un- 
precedented migration were made possible by the coopera- 
tion of the Greek government, and the fleet of cargo ships, 
plus cost of operation, provided for this purpose. 

The Christian people of Northern Anatolia, including 
thousands of Armenians, fled from their homes to the 
Black Sea ports, and there they were, many of them sick 
and without food. Actuated by fear for their lives, they 
crowded aboard freight ships expecting to land somewhere 
in Greece. But the quarantine stations were glutted on 
account of these hordes arriving with pestilential diseases, 
and a halt had been called while ships were on the sea. 
Dante, himself, could not have imagined the horrors of 
these floating Hells, packed with children, short of food and 
water, with typhus fever and smallpox raging in their 
holds, and no place on the face of the earth to land. 

Mr. Asa Jennings, who had been given the honorary title 
of “Admiral” on account of his service in connection with 
the transportation of refugees, was at his wit’s end, and 
the members of the Revolutionary government of Greece 
were also In a difficult position. They had promised to 
receive these outcasts and had furnished ships upon which 
some of them had already embarked. Finally, the Greek 
government agreed to allow pest ships from the Pontus to 
land refugees on MacronissI Island, and to furnish water, 
fuel and transportation, providing some organization would 



establish a quarantine station with isolation hospitals, 
assuming all further expense and responsibility in connec- 
tion therewith. 

Macronissi Island is a bleak, barren, uninhabited rock, 
seven miles long and less than two miles wide at any point, 
lying in the channel eight miles off the coast of Greece from 
the Port of Laurium. There is no water on this Island, 
which is sometimes storm-bound for days. As a quaran- 
tine station it had one point only in Its favor. Lacking out- 
side cooperation. It was impossible for anybody to get away, 
who was unable to swim eight miles. 

Naturally, it was difficult to get any American or Eng- 
lish organization to undertake the running of a quarantine 
station at such a place. Besides, every organization was 
already overburdened. The American Red Cross and the 
Near East Relief had entered into an agreement by the 
terms of which the Red Cross was to provide food for 
refugees after they reached Greece, and the Near East 
Relief was to provide food for refugees in Turkey and en 
route to Greece. The deadlock was due to disease, and in 
this emergency we were called upon to establish a quaran- 
tine station at Macronissi Island, which would reopen the 
door to refugees from the Pontus, and make it possible for 
them to get into Greece. After making all arrangements, 
Dr. Elliott wrote as follows: 

A few nights ago, Mr. Jennings rushed in and said, “Doctor, 
you’ve got to do something about this, you know you always help 
us out. What can the American Women’s Hospitals do about 
this ?” — And the next morning, we went over to the Island of 
Macronissi. . . . That afternoon, I decided to open a quar- 
antine station, and that night I ordered the tents and blankets 
and got to work. The government through Dr. Doxiades, 
the Minister of Public Assistance, had written me a letter, 
after a talk the night before, copy of which find enclosed. 

Sunday morning, at the invitation of our representative at 
the American Legation, I called and he said it was a great 
relief to him, that the American Women’s Hospitals had taken 



this up; that the State Department at Washington was much 
concerned, and he immediately sent a cable to Washington tell- 
ing them of our move. . . . The Government (Greek) will 
supply all transportation, water and fuel. There are excellent 
disinfectant plants, baths and a hospital building on the place. 
We must buy tents, put up warehouses and roof over the kitchen. 

To-morrow morning, one of our staff. Dr. Poumpouras, will 
go to work out the details. This man is one of the leading 
experts in quarantine work of this country. . . . He is now a 
refugee from Smyrna and will prove, I am sure, a great help in 
time of need on the staff at our quarantine station. 

The only trouble now is that I feel like a guilty housewife, 
who has been extravagant and finds herself nearing the end of 
the month, worrying about the bills that will soon be coming in. 
... In any case it simply had to be done. Could we bear the 
thought of that last few thousand waiting on the Black Sea 
coast, waiting in their desperate need for the famous ships of 
Mr. Jennings — the ships that would never come if we had not 
promised to free them from the menace of disease. 

Practically all the American medical work for the relief 
of refugees in Greece was being carried by our organiza- 
tion. But this quarantine island was too costly a job for us 
to undertake in additon to existing obligations. Had the 
Executive Board in New York been consulted, the answer, 
on deliberation, would probably have been “impossible.” 
Heroic decisions, however, are usually made without delib- 
eration. Shiploads of human beings were calling from the 
sea for help. There was no time to count the cost. 

Dr. Olga Stasny was appointed director of this new work. 
With the cooperation of the Greek government and the 
help of Drs. Poumpouras, Yereman and others, prepara- 
tions for receiving eight thousand refugees were speedily 
made. Barracks buildings were erected, two thousand tents 
purchased, a delousing plant and water reservoir used dur- 
ing the World War put in order, and within ten days, pest 
ships from the Pontus were discharging their human cargoes 
at the American Women’s Hospitals Quarantine Island. 





M eanwhile, Mrs. Marian Cruikshank was called 
from the Caucasus to take charge of our Island serv- 
ice. With the help of Mrs. Anderson, Miss Emily Petty 
and Miss Agnes Evon, this work was developed enormously 
— especially on the Island of Crete, where hospitals and 
clinics were conducted at Canea, Retimo and Herakleion. 

“Pack up your troubles in your old kit bag, and smile, 
smile, smile,” is a lOO per cent American sentiment. Some 
Europeans say that we have no sense of tragedy and prove 
it to themselves by the attitude of our soldiers during the 
war, expressed in the leading line of this paragraph. 
“Strange people, these Americans,” the soldiers of other 
countries sometimes observed. “They laugh when they 
should weep.” Mrs. Cruikshank was an eighth generation 
American and she ran true to form in this respect. The 
following pages inadequately echo the spirit of her verbal 
and written communications. 

Mitylene, November, 1922. 

“I am wintering on the .Tigean — literally. Much of my 
time is spent on ships. In foul and fair weather, my job 
is Odysseying up and down and round about the Islands of 
the iEgean Sea, where we are carrying all the American 
medical relief work for the Anatolian refugees that is being 
done on these islands to date. 

“The Seven Wonders of the World were located on this 



part of the globe — now there are eight: The American 
Women’s Hospitals, and the wonder is that this organiza- 
tion is run by women. The Lesbians, Chiotes, Cretans and 
other remnants of the glory that was Greece, are manifestly 
entertaining inspiring suspicions. Their curiosity is aroused. 
They are cooperative to the «th degree. There isn’t any- 
thing on these islands we can’t have. They watch our 
every move, and so long as we take orders from no man 
(especially from no Englishman, the highest authority) we 
can give orders to almost everybody. 

“These Islanders are fine people with inquiring minds and 
habits of observation. They intend to get to the bottom of 
this mystery. They cannot believe the evidence of their 
own eyes when they see our women signing checks to pay 
for the A.W.H. service. They are not convinced. They 
smile and pretend to believe that the American Women’s 
Hospitals are actually conducted by an organization of 
American women, just as I smile and pretend to believe 
their heroic stories of the Amazons. 

“On second thought I do believe the stories of the 
Amazons. Why not? We are such doubting Doras. The 
Amazons certainly have a proud record in this country. Of 
all the tales told regarding the founding of Smyrna, Ephesus 
and other cities older than history, I prefer the one that 
gives all the credit to the Amazons. ‘Great is Diana of the 
Ephesians’ and the type she represents. Only gods and 
demi-gods were worthy of their steel. Theseus won his 
spurs in a battle against the Amazons. Steel? Spurs? Did 
they have steel and spurs in those heroic days? Anyway, 
I’m for the Amazons, strong, and I’m glad we’re reverting 
to type. 

“One of the Twelve Labors of Hercules was getting the 
girdle of Hippolyta, Queen of the Amazons. Small business 
for a man of his stature. His previous labor had been 
cleaning the Augean stables and I can’t help thinking he 
should have stayed on that job. But ‘girdle’ in this connec- 



tion may have a subtle, symbolic meaning, which in the vul- 
gar parlance of our native land is sometimes expressed by 
the word ‘goat’. 

“On third thought I’m an Amazon myself in spirit, and 
I’m sorry that Hippolyta and all her forces were not guard- 
ing Smyrna with poison gas and black magic when the 
Turks came down from Angora. There are Amazons 
among the Kurds right now. Women who fight for the 
love of fighting. One of them, who was shot, came to our 
Ismid Hospital for treatment. She had a military swank, a 
modern rifle and other deadly weapons. Her man, “Her- 
cules,” acted as perambulating arsenal and general transpor- 
tation system for the team. She was the sniper. This 
Kurdish woman warrior is worthy of the Amazonic tradi- 
tions of her country — thrice worthy in a land where most 
women compete with donkeys as pack animals. 

• ••••••• 

“During my recent visit to Constantinople, Carls Mills 
and I had luncheon at the Patriarchate. Long years ago 
when a phrenologist who came to Olympia, Wash., with a 
side show examined my head, he didn’t find any bump of 
veneration. — Worse luck! But even to my blind under- 
standing, the Patriarch Meletlos Is a venerable man — one 
of the few venerable beings it has been my good fortune to 

“Accompanied by a member of the Greek Refugee Com- 
mission and a guard in the dark blue uniform with the arms 
of the Patriarch, we visited some of the refugee quarters 
around Constantinople. One of the camps contained people 
from the village of Shili on the Black Sea, near the entrance 
of the Bosphorus. This village of about two thousand popu- 
lation was In the neutral zone and therefore considered 
safe. When the Turkish soldiers came, the people ‘made a 
feast’ and went out to receive them. But this pathetic 
gesture of friendliness was unavailing. Poor little Shili I 
Her case can be heard only behind closed doors. 


c Z 





c ^ 


C C . 

^ S 

H ■ 

P. — 


“Miss Mills and I were on the Charwood, a British ship 
while she was being loaded with refugees at Constantinople. 
They were a pitiful looking lot. Fifteen hundred of them 
had been crowded into the old church of St. Nicholas in 
Galata. There had been some sort of difficulty. A Turk- 
ish policeman had shot three refugees and the rest had 
turned loose and killed him. Pandemonium followed; a 
general alarm was sounded and the British military police 
finally stopped the fight. 

“Getting that crowd of refugees, mostly women and chil- 
dren, from the Church to the quay, afterward, was an 
almost impossible task. They had to be driven like a herd 
of cattle. Naturally, they were on the lookout for the 
shambles, and balked at the entrance of a huge building, 
four stories high with a central court and inside balconies, 
where they were to be parked for safe-keeping until the 
time of embarkation. Finally, they were gotten into this 
court. The poor things were dazed with fright and when 
they looked up and saw British soldiers on all the galleries 
surrounding the court, they became hysterical, laughing, cry- 
ing, and chattering irrelevantly, like so many gibbering 

“Tears, idle tears, unbecoming to an Amazon in good 
standing, who should be proof against such weakness. ‘My 
word!’ as the English say, you’ve got to be hard-boiled or 
die in this country. Fortunately, my folks were amphibious 
animals. They were hard-shelled Baptists, and six years 
as a surgical assistant, added to my hereditary gifts, has 
qualified me, in a measure, for this ‘post’. 

“According to the Anglophobes, all this trouble is due 
indirectly to British Imperialism, and according to the 
Anglophiles, the British are sane and saving angels hovering 
over the country. The Spirit of Imperialism broods in the 
embassies of the great nations hatching all kinds of dodos. 
For the past two years, I have been breathing this atmos- 
phere and my system is saturated. The symptoms are like 



the gold-rush fever set to martial music. Commercial im- 
perialism appeals to me personally and patriotically. We, 
the American people, are not sustaining our record on these 
immediate shores of Europe, Asia and Africa. The English, 
French and Italians are grabbing everything. It is very 
embarrasing. Something ought to be done. I should like 
to reach out a prehensory paw and secure an option on King 
Solomon’s Mines, in the belt beyond Smyrna where Midas 
and Croesus used to operate, and sell it for a million pounds 

“The defenders of the Turk dwell with insistence upon 
his truthfulness as compared with other natives, but in the 
interest of neutrality I must say that no nation or religion 
in the Eastern Hemisphere has a monopoly on truth. The 
Turks, Greeks and Armenians are intelligent people. They 
tell the truth when it serves their purpose best, and some- 
times when it doesn’t. The ex-governor of Chanak was 
moved to tell the truth regarding our refugee surgeon. This 
‘Sick Man of the East’ was under an anaesthetic in the 
hands of an injured enemy wielding a scalpel, and when 
he came out and found himself, ‘actually enumerated with 
the alive’ he was so surprised and grateful that he wrote 
the following letter in Turkish, which was translated by an 
English-speaking Turk: 

Mitylene, November 2l, 1922. 

Trichopoulo, Esq., Surgeon, 

American Women’s Hospitals, 


( 1 ) Suffering since years I entered the Hospital, and seeing 
that my surgical attendance which was made in accordance 
to my disease was a very success, and my health therefore 
rendered within a week’s time, I cannot retain myself from 
expressing you my soul’s gratitude. 

(2) I express not only my own thanks, but also those of other 
unfortunate patients who were salved by you without excep- 
tion religious or national. 


(3) It is impossible to forget also the superhuman troubles 
which are daily rendered by the nurses. 

(6) Although I should make known through the press either of 
your politeness or your fine art, either the perfection and 
the huge work of the American Women’s Hospital produc- 
ing the very best efforts for this unfortunate humanity I 
have not been able to do so. 

(7) Several patients in the hospital they told me that even at 
the very last moment quite hopeless of their salvation 
entered the hospital and owing to the successful interven- 
tion they are actually enumerated with the alive. 

(8) I beg to forward full of holy emotion, greetings of grati- 
tude to the various noble and charitable American ladies, 
who arriving from so far struggle superhumanily for the 
suffering humanity. 

(signed) A. Pertev, 
Ex-Sous-Gouverneur de Tzanak! 






Chios, November, 1922. 

“Seven cities warred for Homer being dead ; 

Who living had no roof to shroud his head.” 

• ••••••• 

“Seven wealthy towns contend for Homer dead. 
Through which the living Homer begged his bread.” 

“XTERY little is known regarding the origin and local 

V habitation of Homer, but Chios is one of the seven 
towns-and Smyrna is another. The evidence is in favor of 
these two places as against the other five. The data quoted 
above indicates that Homer was a refugee, and in view of 
the present state of affairs, it is reasonable to assume that 
he was a refugee from Smyrna, the Phoenix City, which is 
incinerated about once in five hundred years, and arises 
fresh and flourishing from her own ashes. 

“This island has a habit of producing blind prodigies. 
There is one here now, a blind linen keeper at the relief 
center. She knows every nook and corner of the home and 
hospital, the linen of every description belonging to the 
place, and the highways and byways of Chios, as well as 
Nydia knew Pompeii. 

• ••••••• 

“In organizing medical and sanitary service for the refu- 
gees on these islands, we do whatever is most expedient. 
We establish hospitals and clinics in barracks and tents, or 
in buildings provided by the local governments. Some- 



times, as at Chios, there are hospital buildings, but no 
money or supplies to run them. In such cases we take over 
the buildings, put in more equipment and auxiliary tents 
or barracks, and carry on with the understanding that in 
case the refugees are moved, we shall take our movable 
hospital equipment and go with them. 

• «••••** 

“In the tame old days when I lived in the wild west, I 
had my fortune told occasionally to relieve the monotony. 
But no matter how much I paid those unimaginative fakers, 
not one of them ever predicted anything half so wonderful 
to relate as my daily life in the service of the American 
Women’s Hospitals on the iEgean Islands. 

“It is rumored that a soothsayer told Josephine and the 
little French Sultana when they were children together on 
the Island of Martinique, one of the stepping-stones 
between North and South America, lying due west of the 
Sargasso Sea, that they were destined for greatness in the 
old world. But nobody ever Foretold that I was destined 
to be medical dictator on strange islands, peopled in the con- 
sciousness of the world with mythological characters, and in 
reality with thousands of the most pitiful human beings 
that ever walked the earth without shoes. 

“But here I am going down to the sea in ships. The 
same islands and the same sea connected with the mis- 
adventures of Ulysses, but different ships. It was here that 
iEolus, God of the Winds, gave that hero the storms con- 
fined in a bladder. The Pagan Gods certainly played favor- 
ites. I wish they would do as much for me, especially when 
I go down to the sea on one of these little Greek stingarees 
(destroyers) the favorite toys of Poseidon, in this day, 
age and water. 

“The officers of the ships touching at the islands are 
more than good to us. They look after our freight and we 
are priviliged passengers on refugee ships and cargo boats. 
Madam la Directress that’s me in French, (in Greek I may 



be something more exalted) goes from Island to Island like 
the aforementioned Ulysses on anything that floats. Some- 
times she gets a lift on an American destroyer, after which 
her swelling pride is deflated by a trip on a Greek fishing 

“ ‘The Liner she’s a lady, an’ she never looks nor ’eeds.’ 
She usually passes us proudly by on her way to Egypt or 
Constantinople. The proudest of all these proud ships is 
the British liner in the America tourist trade. With a thou- 
sand straight ticket tourists, she sweeps across my Tigean 
Sea, her brilliant lights, tier upon tier, challenging the con- 
stellations of the heavens. But my little islands are not 
entirely forgotten. Poetic passengers are always murmuring: 

The Isles of Greece, the isles of Greece ! 

Where burning Sappho loved and sung. 

Burning Sappho is the favorite theme. They don’t get close 
enough to see the> refugees, cold, hungry and dying of typhus 
and smallpox. Like shining apparitions from another 
world, these great ships pass in the night. Their wakes 
wash the shores of Mitylene and break on the crags of 
Chios and Crete, while our nurses wait for the Messenger 
calling the souls of the sick. 

• •«•••••' 

“The iEgean Sea, November, 1922. 

“I am running back to Pirsus on a Greek boat by a round- 
about route among my treasure islands, ‘Where Delos rose 
and Phoebus sprung,’ whence France transported the ‘Venus 
de Milo’ and the ‘Victory of Samathrace’ to the Louvre, and 
from which the strong, young nations of the earth, with 
accomplices in the fields, are still picking up gems of art for 
their spacious galleries and museums. This is what comes, 
or goes, through the ‘open door.’ 

“The maneuvers of the dreadful dreadnaughts of the 
European nations keep me in a state of nervous apprehen- 
sion. Britannia rules the waves, but Italia and the others 

Dreadful Dreadnaughts. 


Q oT 

^ 5 

>5 O 
w ^ 




















tij X 
a o 
n p5 
o C, 


are very much in evidence, and when I see a line of battle- 
ships ploughing through the waters of my archipelago, my 
protective instincts are aroused and I feel like going out 
and double-staking all the islands in the name of the Ameri- 
can Women’s Hospitals and the United States. 

“The sea is lovely and I have been scanning the horizon 
with a glass in search of islands which may harbor refugees. 
There are plenty of them. They stand out of the deep in 
clusters between Crete and the mainland of Europe and 
Asia. Toward the east lies Skarpanto, Rhodes and the 
Sporades, but there are no refugees on these islands. They 
have recently been acquired by Italy (the islands, not the 
refugees) and according to current gossip, are merely step- 
ping-stones in a great pan-Romanic revival, the first part of 
which involves the conversion of the Mediterranean into 
an Italian lake. 

“The prefix ‘pan’ is a hard working syllable in this parf 
of the world. The pan-Teutonic probabilities were nipped 
in the bud by the big parade, but nature, animal or vege- 
table, moves according to law, ‘And ’ere one flowery sea- 
son fades and dies, designs the blooming wonders of the 

“You should hear them talk about European and Asiatic 
combinations, pan-Turanian^ — Slavonic — Latinic — Hellenic 
— Fascistic — and Communistit movements. These ravings 
are all news to me, although they have been going on with- 
out abatement for hundreds of years. In my little old 
geography there was a picture of Balboa standing in the 
Pacific with his clothes on, seriously taking possession of 
the ocean and all its inlets, shores and rivers, condemning the 
future Inhabitants thereof to peonage and a Spanish dialect, 
with one sweeping pan-Castilian gesture. 

“My sentiments are pan-Awotal plus. Next to my pass- 
port, there is nothing so precious to me as my Awotal 
(cable name) job, and I shall never be satisfied until the 
A.W.H. puts a ring around the world and makes me sani« 



tary dictator of all the islands. For sentimental reasons 
our influence should be extended to the Islands of Malta, 
and Rhodes where the Colussus used to be. The early 
Hospitalers operating in my territory, about a thousand 
years ago, established strongholds at Rhodes and Malta. 
These fighting monks were perfectly good Samaritans In 
the beginning, but they were misogynists of the old school. 
I can’t imagine anything more tantalizing to their Immortal 
souls than the standards of an organization of female hospi- 
talers waving triumphantly over their historic stamping 

Chios, December, 1922. 

“Caught in Chios ! — ‘They also serve who only stand and 
wait’ — perhaps. But I don’t like the service, and I wish 
the Greek government would give me a hydroplane and a 
pilot so I could hop off from Island to Island without wait- 
ing for the Irregular boats. This may seem unreasonable 
but it really Is a modest wish compared with things my 
countrymen put over. Some of them have special ships and 
trains to carry them around and all I want is a little hydro- 
plane with a Greek pilot at about thirty dollars a month. 

“Too much power and grandeur sometimes has a bad 
effect upon us. We go to bed In a normal state of mind and 
arise with divine right complexes. This disorder, which 
has been named the ‘Balkan Bat’ by a natural born Ameri- 
can alienist In the warehouse service of the Red Cross, is a 
By-product of the European upheaval. Kings and Emper- 
ors are down and out, and American relief workers and 
national Dictators have come into power. The Dictators 
look like death and castor oil, and the American relief 
workers look like nourishment to the hungry. The general 
adulation is a sweet but acid test. Those with a weakness 
for benevolent despotism develop delusions of grandeur and 
— my boat Is coming — sorry I cannot finish this treatise on 
the ‘Balkan Bat.’ ” 






“Island of Crete, 
“December, 1922. 

“What do you know about Crete? Nothing! How 
fortunate! You can begin at the beginning with nothing to 

“Well, ‘Death Valley,’ at the base of Mount Ararat, 
where the Bolos sing the ‘Internationale’ before and after 
eating instead of saying grace, may be the site of the 
Garden of Eden, but Crete is the Elysian Island where men, 
themselves, first made life worth living. 

“This island, 160 miles long by 35 wide at its widest 
point, is the largest and choicest tract of hills and dales in 
my archipelago. One isolated peak in these Cretan moun- 
tains is the memorial stone of Zeus, himself. This is the 
only statement made by the island boosters regarding pre- 
historic matters, which they lack the evidence to prove in 
part. Equi-distant from Europe, Asia and Africa, Crete 
was literally the center of the commercial world four thou- 
sand years ago, and this is a comparatively recent date, as 
dates go on the island. The excavations tell the story of 
prehistoric men, who lived in the great valley of the Medi- 
terranean before the Atlantic Ocean beat through the neck 
of land joining Europe and Africa, and converted a fertile 
country into a great sea with islands sticking up here and 
there, one of which is Crete. 




“Life on this island has been a series of ups and downs — 
usually downs for the Cretans. The sacking of Knossus 
and other cities and the clean sweep of the Minoan civiliza- 
tion, was the greatest crime of all. The barbarians, who- 
ever they were, did a thorough job. ‘Dead men tell no 
tales’ must have been their principle of action, and for lack 
of evidence, no special group has been historically indicted 
for the final holocaust, which must have been similar in 
some respects to the recent disaster at Smyrna. 

“I am not prepared to state definitely whether the early 
Cretan (Minoan) civilization, which was already on the 
down grade when Homer sung of Troy, antedated the 
ancient civilizations of Egypt and Assyria, but the Cretans 
say it did, and I am willing to take their word for It. The 
Apostle Paul was misinformed. The Cretans are not always 
liars. (Titus 1-12) They sometimes tell the truth, and they 
rarely short change us on supplies. 

“A dark age followed the decline and fall of the Minoan 
civilization. During this eclipse of a thousand years, the 
traditions of Crete took on a mythical character. Then 
came the dawn of Greek civilization, fertilized by the 
Minoan and Mycenaean, and the stories of Crete, ‘such 
stuff as dreams are made of,’ were recorded In books on the 
subject of mythology. 

“But the ‘authorities’ on history and mythology had writ- 
ten without a thought of such an imaginative man as my 
neighbor; Sir Arthur Evans, who came along about twenty- 
five years ago with a pick and shovel and changed the his- 
tory of the world. Tomes upon tomes representing the 
work of savants for ages, were scrapped by this seeker after 
truth, who actually dug up from under an ordinary olive 
grove on the outskirts of Heraklelon, the well-preserved 
remains of Knossus and the Palace of King Minos with its 
Labyrinth where the Minotaur used to be. These findings 
on the Island of Crete spread before the astonished eyes 
of the present generation, hundreds of thousands of whom 



have followed the tourist trail around the ancient monu- 
ments of the world, made the Colosseum and other age- 
proud ruins look as modern as a New Year’s edition of the 
Main Street Chronicle compared with the Old Testament. 

“Fortunately, there was one rich possession which the 
invading hordes of antiquity could not transport from 
Crete, and that was the climate. With the help of the 
‘foodful glebe’ (no longer so foodful) the salubrious cli- 
mate preserved the human species, and man, soil, sunshine, 
and rain, working together century after century, made 
the island so attractive that every dominant Mediterran- 
ean power annexed it in turn. 

“The yoke of the Greeks, Romans and Venetians was 
hard to bear, but when the Turks came along and, after 
the siege of Herakleion lasting 21 years (the longest siege 
on record), subjugated the island, the unconquerable minor- 
ity among the Cretans took to the hills like the highduks 
of the Balkans under similar circumstances, and lived by 
exacting tribute from the invaders, and all of those who 
submitted to their authority. 

“For 250 years these Cretan mountaineers were known as 
lawless brigands or heroic rebels, by Turkophiles and Turk- 
ophobes, respectively. They were proud, picturesque folks 
to read about. With swagger and personality expressed in 
details of dress, they were not unlike the comitadjis of the 
Macedonian mountains to-day, and they certainly did make 
life interesting for the law-abiding population of the low- 

“The Isles of Greece are inspirational in the highest 
degree. With the help of the gods and muses, nothing 
was impossible in the old days. Men and women were 
merely instruments for immortal manifestations. This 
influence still lingers here and there. The poorest germ of 
genius will hatch in this climate if given half a chance, and 
I am expecting a fine frenzy at any moment. In the Palace 
of King Minos when the moon is full, even my poor, inhib- 



ited, medicated, and sterilized imagination runs amuck, 
and conjures up all sorts of fancies but nothing half so 
wonderful and actually far-fetched as the fact that I am 

“Sir Arthur Evans and his associates are still prospecting 
the subsoil of the olive groves in this vicinity, digging, pan- 
ning and sifting for the ninety cities described by Homer in 
the Odyssey. Prospecting in all its phases, including archae- 
ology, is a passion. The revelations of its devotees in Crete 
give me a feeling of ‘Onward Christian Soldier,’ there is 
infinitely more behind all this to be revealed and adjusted. 

“The archaeologists are not alone in this field. There is 
a paleoethnologist searching for the wisdom tooth of the 
missing link which may be found at any time. Even Mr. 
Dawkins, the British consul, is delving here and there and 
everywhere when he is not busy diplomating for his govern- 
ment, and day after day I am praying that they won’t acci- 
dently strike oil. If they do, all is lost. 

“Crete awes the circling waves, a fruitful soil ! 

And ninety cities crown the sea-born isle; 

IVIix’d with her genuine sons, adopted names 
In various tongues avow their various claims: 

Cydonians, dreadful with the bended yew. 

And bold Pelasgi boasts a native’s due: 

The Dorians, plumed amid the files of w^ar, 

Her foodful glebe with fierce Achaians share; 

-Cnossus, her capital of high command : 

Where sceptred Minos with impartial hand 
Divided right; each ninth revolving year, 

By Jove received in council to confer. 

His son Deucalion bore successive sway; 

His son, who gave me first to view the day! 

The royal bed an elder issue bless’d, 

Idomeneus, whom Ilion fields attest 
Of matchless deeds: untrain’d to martial toil, 

I lived inglorious in my native isle. 

Studious of peace, and Althon is my name. 

’Twas then to Crete the great Ulysses came: 

The End of a Narrow Street,, Crete. 

to Constantinople and Alexandria. 

Refugee children in the Labyrinth of King Minos, shielding their faces 
from the “evil eye” of the camera. 

the Orthodox Church Dedicated Our Hospital 



The hero speeded to the Cnossian court: 

Ardent the partner of his arms to find, 

In leagues of long commutual friendship join’d. 

Vain hope ! ten suns had warm’d the western strand 
Since my brave brother, with his Cretan band. 

Had sail’d for Troy: but to the genial feast 
My honour’d roof received the royal guest : 

Beeves for his train the Cnossian peers assign, 

A public feast, with jars of generous wine. 

“The doings of the prehistoric pioneers mentioned in the 
XIX book of the Odyssey as quoted above, have Intrigued 
my budding Imagination. The Palace of King Minos at 
Knossus has already been uncovered. What next? This 
is a treasure Island. Deep buried beneath the matted roots 
of gnarled olive trees which stand in groves, are ancient 
cities lying tier on tier. The ground Is rich In works of art 
coveted by the nations of the earth. Stories of the fabulous 
value of antiques are current, and bhe islanders are on the 
lookout for buried treasures which may be smuggled out 
of the country. The gold and Ivory Snake Goddess of Crete 
(1500 B.C.), wearing an 18 corset and foreshadowing the 
fashionable models of the Victorian period. Is In the Boston 
Museum. This Goddess was not in the quota, and her 
presence in a foreign land has never been explained to the 
satisfaction of the people In her own home town. 

“As a special privilege, I would rather have a miner’s 
license on this island than In the Klondike. Century after 
century people have burled their valuables to save them 
from invaders and have not lived to dig them up. Besides, 
this has been the favorite haven of pirates for ages, and 
there are coves. Inlets, caves and undiscovered hiding places 
all around the Island. 

“The American Navy was born out here to the southwest 
toward the Barbary coast. Mohammedan corsairs were 
preying upon Christian trade at that time, and In the regular 
order of business had been seizing American merchant 



ships and holding our seamen for ransom. We were in 
urgent need of a navy, so Stephen Decatur started one. He 
was from SInnepuxent, Maryland, a far less likely place 
than Portland, Oregon, and I am pleased to Imagine that 
he stopped at Crete after bearding the pirates In their 
stronghold at Tripoli and making his world renowned get- 
away, which has not yet been reproduced by Douglas Fair- 
banks. The activities of the Barbary pirates In these sur- 
rounding waters should be credited with the Immortal out- 
burst: ‘Millions for defence but not one cent for tribute.’ ^ 
“All these things and many others, even the story of 
Zeus, are easy to believe after living on the islands for 
awhile. But the great romance, the Immediate wonder of 
wonders to the Cretans and other Islanders, Is the fact 
that a group of American women has come to help them In 
the last of a series of disasters covering several thousand 
years. The Cretans are Interested In the personnel of the 
American Women’s Hospitals. We furnish material for 
much of the conversation on the Island. Our clothes, hats, 
shoes, stockings and lingerie hanging on the clothesline, 
are far more Interesting to the public than the dally proceed- 
ings of the League of Nations. 

• ••••••• 

“Yes, I’ve met the Greek Governor, the Turkish Prefets, 
the Cretan Mayors, Deputies and Councilors and the 
island Is. ours — that Is the part of the population with 
typhus, smallpox and scarlet fever. I have been Immunized 
against bubonic plague, cholera, diphtheria, meningitis 
smallpox and typhoid In alphabetical order, and if all the 
refugees and other Inhabitants develop these diseases, I 
shall be reigning autocrat with authority over the entire 
Island. The original Mlnoan Throne is at the recently 
excavated Palace of Knossus, about three miles from our 
new clinic at Heraklelon, and nobody Is using It at present. 
“My system Is armed to the teeth with antibodies. Phago- 

^ Written before the production of Old Ironsides, 


cytes guard every portal. My person is liberally sprinkled 
with sabadilla powder, fatal to typhus-bearing vermin. I 
don’t miss the vermin; the powder produces exactly the 
same sensation. I sleep In a bug-proof bag, under a mos- 
quito-proof canopy at night, and use oil of citronella, deadly 
to common mosquitoes. Instead of cold cream, for my com- 

“Malaria! this Is the flaw In my armor. The refugees 
have brought a malignant form of this disease down from 
Samsoun and other parts of the Pontus, and Greece furn- 
ishes the anopheles. The country is a regular mosquito 
hatchery, and whenever I see a mosquito that I do not 
hear, I have a chill. Please find a serum for malaria and 
send it quick or I shall take to the sea in a submarine. 

“Sunday week in the old English vernacular, we reached 
Canea visited the clinic and outfitted the hospital with sup- 
plementary supplies. On Wednesday, we left by motor for 
Retimo, and although we traveled like the wind the news 
by ’phone went faster with the gratifying result that we 
were met about a mile out of town by the local authorities 
Including the Military Governor, Prefet, Mayor, Chief of 
Police and Bishop, who had formerly been Aide de Camp 
to Venizelos. 

“In the early part of November, 1922, Mrs. Anderson 
started our clinics and baby stations at Canea, Retimo and 
Heraklelon, and a large service has been carried at these 
three places. The local hospital at Canea is better than 
those conducted in other districts on the Island, for the 
reason that Mrs. J. M. Dawkins, the American wife of the 
British consul, is a devoted friend of the sick in that town. 

“Retimo was sadly in need of greater facilities for hospi- 
talization, and after selecting buildings and arranging to 
have them repaired, I left for Heraklelon by boat, for 
the reason that there was no land route but a bridle path. 
Heraklelon has been hard hit. The population is normally 
about 25,000 and at least that number of refugees have 



been landed here. Unfortunately, there was a huge, unoccu. 
pied building in the town, an old Turkish barracks about 
eight hundred feet long by one hundred feet wide, with one 
floor and a sort of a loft. Three thousand people were 
crowded into this building, which was constructed by the 
Turks for quartering soldiers about a century ago, and 
belongs to the Neolithic Age. 

“No, I haven’t got my dates mixed. The facts are written 
in blocks of stone at the Knossus excavation nearby, and 
in exquisite marble figures at the museum across the street. 
My job forces me to think in terms of sanitation. The 
civilization, four thousand years ago, which produced the 
Palace of King Minos with its perfect drainage, baths and 
other appointments, three miles from our present-day clinic, 
was about four thousand years in advance of that which 
produced this barracks building, a hundred years ago. 

“Such a stew! King Minos would surely turn up his 
royal nose if he could return to his beloved island, the 
beautiful, highly civilized spot he helped to create, and get 
one sniff of this pestiferous barracks. Many of the people 
living in this place formerly had good homes. Now they 
stay together in constant dread of being sent to the foodless 
hinterland and forgotten by God and man. The minute I 
put my eye on this barracks, I saw trouble ahead. The place 
is a perfect incubator for contagious diseases and I promptly 
foretold an epidemic, thereby assuring myself of a footstool 
among the minor prophets at a later date when this night- 
mare will surely come true. 

“Meanwhile repairs on our hospital buildings are going 
forward rapidly. We are getting ready for the inevitable 
epidemic and our clinic at Herakleion is running full force. 
Now hold your breath and make a mighty mental effort to 
grasp the full significance of a statement, which, to the best 
of my knowledge and belief is a statement of fact. The A. 
W.H. clinic at Herakleion is the biggest clinic in the world! 
I am terribly proud of this work and thankful that we are 


able to carry it, albeit conscious of the wickedness of being 
proud, instead of just thankful and meek as a lowly Samari- 
tan ought to be. 

“Anyway, we have from six to eight hundred patients 
daily at the Herakleion clinic. This is due to the fact that a 
large percentage of the refugees are sick, especially the 
children. We employ a great many refugee physicians and 
nurses. The nurses are the best fitted girls we can find. They 
are without training, but they learn faster than any group I 
ever worked with. So long as they give satisfaction, they 
are able to secure food for themselves and are in a position 
to help their families a bit. Believe me, they pray for light 
in regard to their jobs. 

“Crete, February, 1923. 

“The last time I was at Chios I felt as though my child 
had grown up and got married. I was no longer needed. 
Miss Petty is running the hospital and clinics much better 
than I could run them if I stayed there and did my best. 
She is also keeping an eye on our work at Mitylene, and 
this leaves me free to spend most of my time at Crete. 

“The American Red Cross is furnishing a thousand calo- 
ries of food daily for every patient in our hospitals, in addi- 
tion to milk, and some other supplies for our clinics. Some- 
body connected with the Red Cross seems to know that it is 
good business to help us with supplies. By giving us ten, 
twenty or thirty per cent of the food for our hospitals, they 
are more certain that these hospitals will stay open, and they 
save themselves the difference In cost to spend elsewhere. 

“As part of our sanitary work, we are running delousers 
and baths. Among the ruins here, as well as at Rome and 
Pompeii, there are the remains of public baths, which testify 
to the habits of other days. Crete Is off the ‘tourist’ trail 
and the old baths have no value as ‘sights’. Therefore, we 
put pipes into them and restored them to their original pur- 
pose for the use of refugees. We furnish the soap as a 
medical measure, observing the letter of the unwritten law 



and keeping strictly within our province, and the govern- 
ment supplies the water. ‘No bath, no bread,’ is the Red 
Cross ruling and these baths haven’t had as many patrons 
since the reign of Suleiman the Magnficent. 

“The first case admitted to the A.W.H. hospital at Her- 
akleion was a little child of five years, who had been stabbed 
In the back at Smyrna and who had refused to die. The 
wound, which had pierced the chest wall, was followed by 
empyema and the mother of that child had carried him from 
place to place for almost three months. The endurance of 
this woman Is beyond belief. With that child In her arms 
with a discharging wound, no dressings, no possibility of 
care and another little one at her side, she had gone into the 
holds of refugee ships, slept in the streets of MItylene and 
finally reached the barracks at Herakleion on the Island 
of Crete. With proper care our first patient was well 
within ten days and at just that time a miracle occurred. 

“These people believe In prayer and In miracles. The 
more they suffer, the more they pray for help, and no one 
was in greater need of help than that poor woman. Associ- 
ated with terrible affliction, there is a corresponding possi- 
bility of great joy. The father of that child had been 
deported to the Interior of Anatolia by the Turks. He 
escaped, made his way to the coast and swam to a ship on 
the sea. That ship might have been going to France, Italy, 
Morocco, Portugal or Spain, but strange to say It was going 
to Herakleion, Crete. Being a refugee, this young man was 
sent to the barracks, where he found his wife and children. 

“The transcendent joy and thankfulness of this family 
contrasted strangely with their surroundings. God was 
good ! They were the most fortunate people on earth. Three 
thousand refugees rejoiced and gave thanks with them, and 
I remembered my grandmother with her saws, sayings and 
psalms: ‘Weeping may endure for a night, but joy cometh 
in the morning.’ 

“The presence of this man raised the morale of the bar- 



racks population enormously. The women, whose husbands 
and sons had been sent to the interior of Turkey, became 
more hopeful. Perhaps they would escape. Perhaps they 
had already escaped. After all, God is good. They had a 
sign. Here in their midst was a man who had been deliv- 
ered from their enemies, and they looked out over the sea 
with hope renewed.” 





GUESTS “the quality OF MERCY*’ 

O UR appeal for funds had been fairly successful, and four 
months after leaving Smyrna I returned to the field in 
Greece with additional American personnel. 

After inspecting our hospitals and clinics at Piraeus, Dir- 
gouti, Kokinia, the Aerodrome, and the orphanage infirm- 
aries at Athens, Oropos, Loutraki and elsewhere, which we 
were conducting at that time for the care of the sick among 
the Armenian orphans brought to Greece by the Near East 
Relief, we started one morning for Macronissl Island. 

The weather at Athens was not bad, but thirty miles down 
the Attic Peninsula near the land’s end off Laurium, the 
water was rough and the men running our tenders refused 
to take us to the island. The boat would surely be wrecked 
in the breakers, they said, if we attempted to land on that 
rock in such weather. The Ionia was lying between the 
coast and the island waiting for the storm to subside. She 
had arrived, a few days before, flying the usual signals of 
distress, reading in the language of the sea : “Four thousand 
refugees. No water. No food. Smallpox and typhus fever 

This story of twelve words, or the first seven words with 
immaterial variation, was true of practically all the refugee 
ships. They came into the ports of Greece, including 


Dr. Olga Stasny, director of the A. W. H. Quarantine Service, Macronissi 

Island, Greece, 1923. 

Tender piovided by the Greek Government for the American Women’s 
Hospitals, Quarantine Island. 

Pest ship with humnn cargo (four thousand refugees) from Trebizond, lying off the A. W. H. Quarantine Island, flying signals 

of distress, meaning: no water — no food — smallpox — typhus. 

Six thousand refugees waiting for food, A. W. II. Quarantine Island. At tlie time tliis photograph was taken the entire cost of 
feeding these people was borne by our organization. Later the American Red Cross came to our assistance and allowed a 

thousand calories of food daily for each person in quarantine. 

A man of sorrows with a saintly face moving toward the last resting place on wind swept Macronissi. 



Piraeus, Salonica, Nauplia, Kalamata, Herakleion and many 
other places loaded to capacity with human freight, conta- 
gious diseases spreading in their holds, and thousands upon 
thousands of outcasts famished and frantic for water. Part 
of the human cargo of the Ionia had been unloaded before 
the storm, and the rest had to stay on the ship and wait for 
fair weather. Meanwhile the delousing, disinfecting and 
encamping of those ashore, moved forward with dispatch 
in spite of the difficulties to be overcome at every step. 

The sea was smooth on the following day and debarka- 
tion was resumed. The refugees came ashore in great flat- 
bottomed scows, and Dr. Stasny, with the assistance of Dr. 
Sara E. Foulks and Dr. Owen H. Yereman inspected them, 
one after another, as they landed. The sick were given first 
attention. Some of them were insane. Those with con- 
tagious disorders were sent to the isolation hospitals, and 
the entire Ionia colony was located at a distance from the 
colonies arriving previously from different ports of the 
Pontus, with perhaps different kinds of diseases. 

Mr. H. C. Moffett, Dr. Elliott and I, stood on an eleva- 
tion above the cove where the tenders were landing, and 
watched that tragic procession made up of women, children, 
the aged, and a small proportion of able-bodied men, strug- 
gling through the sand with their bundles on their backs. 
Many of the old people were exhausted, and had to be 
helped to the camp of the “unclean,” where all the new- 
comers were obliged to remain until they were deloused and 
their meager belongings disinfected. Bending beneath enor- 
mous loads, the refugees struggled up the hill, and here, as 
on the railroad pier at Smyrna, unusual personalities occa- 
sionally emerged. 

In this procession of wretchedness I noticed an old gentle- 
man, one of whose legs had been amputated. He was a 
man of sorrows with a saintly face. His crutches sank so 
deep into the sand that it was very hard for him to get 
along. With the help of a young girl who resembled him 



strikingly, he finally reached the top of the first incline, and 
as he looked around, I noticed that he was going straight 
toward the cemetery with Its white crosses — the last refuge 
on wind-swept Macronissl. 

A woman with a family of children pushed forward and 
upward. Her husband had probably been “detained” by 
the Turks. There were no weaklings In this brood. Her 
strength, stride and cast of countenance compelled attention. 
She had increased and multiplied herself for the coming 
generations. Who was she? No one knew. What was 
she? Every one knew. A strong mother, an honor and an 
asset to her people. She was not resigned to her fate. 
Generations of hatred begotten of oppression lurked behind 
her eyes. Walt! Time and such families may reverse the 
fortunes of to-day. Her spirit was not crushed. Hagar, 
mother of Ishmael, might have had just such a proud, 
resentful face. 

Hundreds followed hundreds through the shifting sand; 
then came a lovely child, carrying a baby sister, almost more 
than her strength could support, and tenderly leading her 
mother, who seemed to have lost her mind. The non- 
descript numbers streamed from the scows for perhaps 
another half an hour, when a boy appeared, unwashed for 
a month, like all the rest, with a fine dog straining at a leash. 
There was quality in that animal, the dog I mean, and prob- 
ably in the boy, but he was at a disadvantage. Dogs are 
good refugees. Their needs are small. Who ever heard 
of a ragged, unwashed, barefoot dog? No such pathetic 
animal exists. Clothes may make the man, but pedigree 
still makes the dog. 

There were three hospital pavilions, one for non-con- 
tagious cases, another for typhus fever and a third for 
smallpox at the smallpox camp. A great many people died 
soon after landing, most of them from exhaustion due to 
lack of food and water, and other hardships incident to 
this terrible migration. 



Ten minutes’ walk over another hill to the north brought 
us to the American Women’s Hospitals’ outdoor cafeteria. 
A photograph of this place, taken on this day appeared in 
the National Geographic Magazine, in November, 1925, 
over the following caption ; 


This photograph was used to illustrate an article with the 
title, “History’s Greatest Trek,” in which the following 
statement appears: 

To avert the horrors of a plague-swept Greece, a quarantine 
station for incoming refugee ships was established off the coast at 
Macronissi Island by an American organization. 

The “American organization,” the name of which was not 
mentioned, was the American Women’s Hospitals. At that 
time we were carrying the entire cost of feeding the refu- 
gees, and all other costs in connection with this work, with 
the exception of the cost of water, fuel and transportation, 
which was borne by the Greek Government. A month later 
the American Red Cross came to our help and allowed us a 
thousand calories of food daily for every refugee on Macro- 

There were probably not more than eight thousand out- 
casts on the entire island, Including those landing from the 
Ionia at the time of my visit in February, 1923, but 
the line waiting for food looked like twenty thousand to me. 
Carrying all sorts of pots and pans in which to receive their 
portions, they moved slowly by our caldrons, where they 
were given their allotments of dark bread, and mush or 
beans, in accordance with the size of their families. 

In those early days, before the work was organized, every 
woman was obliged to bring all of her children able to 


2 24 

walk, to the bread line In order to prove their number and 
prevent hoarding. This hardship was necessary because 
the universal habit of hoarding could not be checked in 
this emergency, among people where the need for hoarding 
was actually gnawing at the pit of their stomachs. 

The poor are always with us, and so are the hoarders. 
They appeared among the Children of Israel during the 
Exodus from Egypt, three thousand years ago; they 
appeared In the United States during the war, and they 
appeared upon MacronissI Island during the Exodus of 
the Children of Christianity from Anatolia, day before 
yesterday. Therefore, every woman was obliged to bring 
all of her family to our flesh pots filled with beans or mush 
and stew once a week, in order that their mouths might be 
counted. There were six thousand waiting for food, and 
approximately two thousand more in the camp of the 
“unclean.” I felt like a hostess with a very large number 
of guests and a mighty slim larder. 

How long can we last? That was the unspoken question 
with which I was inwardly tormented as I walked along 
that line and noticed how hungry they all looked. For four 
years, I had been begging for the American Women’s 
Hospitals, and I knew how hard it was to secure funds. 
Beans, meal, sugar, fats, and the cheapest kind of meat by 
the ton cost a lot of money. 

Elght^ thousand guests, every one of whom had been 
exposed to typhus fever and smallpox — what a prospect ! 
Even though they had been cleaned up yesterday, and their 
camps thoroughly disinfected, they would be coming down 
to-day, to-morrow, all next week and the week after, with 
these diseases. In the cases of new arrivals taking the 
places of those who could be safely removed to the main- 
land at a later date, this process would be repeated. 

How long can we last? Many a ship had split on Macro- 
missl Island, and the good ship Awotal was close to the 
breakers. But financial disaster was not the only danger. 


Mr. Moffett, who came from the Black Sea w'ith the 
refugees on the Ionia, called me aside and warned me of 
the grave danger of leaving American women on that island. 
As I remember the words of his warning they were In sub- 
stance as follows : 

“This is a dangerous place, and these are dangerous peo- 
ple. They have suffered terribly. They have nothing to 
lose and they feel that the whole world is against them. 
Suppose this Island is storm-bound for a week and the water 
runs out? They will blame everybody in control for keep- 
ing them here, and they may rise up and kill your women. 
Remember, that when this Island is storm-bound, no help 
can come from the shore. 

“While we stood offshore waiting for permission to come 
in, the officers had to use guns to control these people. 
When the bodies of their children were thrown overboard, 
and they floated around the ship, these mild looking women 
were like raving maniacs, threatening the lives of every- 
body In authority. Dr. Stasny Is very confident and sympa- 
thetic. The refugees look like Iambs to-day, but I’ve seen 
them in the other mood. When the time comes, they may 
turn tiger and tear her to pieces.” 

This appalling possibility added to our financial danger, 
dimmed the glory of a glorious work somewhat. It was 
fine for those who slept in the Hotel Grande Bretagne at 
Athens, but for those sleeping on the island during the 
Impending equinoctial storms, braving the dangers of pesti- 
lential diseases and the frenzy of thousands of half-crazed 
people — well, this was the reverse of the Macronissi Medal- 
lion, the beautiful obverse of wh'ich had already been held 
up before my admiring eyes. 

In search of a quiet spot, where I could be alone for a 
few minutes to try to think, I passed through one of the 
camps and the cemetery, on my way to the crest of the 
island. Whew ! Living refugees have an odor as distinc- 
tive as the odor of violets, and different kinds of decompos- 



ing organic matter, also gives off characteristic effluvia. At 
the edge of the cemetery, which already had a large num- 
ber of graves, a few of them marked with crosses, I caught 
a familiar whiff and asked an English-speaking deportee 
who was digging a grave, for an explanation. 

“It is not my fault. Madam, I assure you,” he said. “We 
are not allowed to put our dead in the channel and the soil 
on this island is not deep enough for graves.” He was 
standing half way out of the grave, and to convince me of 
the truth of his statement, he scraped his shovel discordantly 
along the granite bedrock, measured the depth with the 
handle and announced that it was less than a meter deep. 

From the crest of Macronissi, which is also called Hel- 
ena, because the lovely Helen is said to have paused here 
with Paris on her epoch-making elopement, I looked out 
over the main channel between the Port of Athens (Piraeus) 
and the ports of the iEgean, Eastern Mediterranean, and 
Black Seas, then, turning on my twentieth century rubber 
heel, glanced back to the Attic Peninsula. Within a small 
radius of this island our most precious possessions were 
developed, for Western culture is peculiarly the child of 
Greek culture. From those immediate shores to the north, 
south, east and west, we have a priceless heritage in art, 
literature, science and philosophy, and here on the hillside 
under my eyes, was a remnant of the people who had made 
the greatest of all gifts to the world — the gift of a civiliza- 

They cast their bread upon the waters, and after many 
centuries the crumbs returned. Across the Gulf of iEglna, 
at Epidaurus, was the famous shrine of^Esculaplus, the God 
of Healing, and his daughter, Hygeia, Goddess of Health. 
To the east beyond the Cyclades was the Island of Cos, 
where Hippocrates, “Father of Medicine” was born, and 
on the mainland within view from the crest of Macronissi 
he actually practiced the science, art and morals of medi- 
cine. His life, as expressed in his work, teachings and 

Dr. Olga Stasny with a group of “clean” children. Tliese children have 
been deloused, washed and provided with vermin-free clothing. 

A Funer.m. on “^ntine Isl.and.” 
Disinfecting plant and barracks hospital in the background. 

Looking over the sea from the A. W. H. Quarantine Island. 

Refugee women on the “island” washing clothes m the sea. 



writings, forms the cornerstone on which the profession of 
medicine rests to-day. This Moses left his Commandments, 
the Hippocratic Oath, which for centuries was part of the 
graduating ceremony of physicians in the Western world. 

“The road to Learning leads through Faith,” said Aris- 
totle, twenty-two centuries ago, and he placed a gift on the 
altar of learning that has never been equaled. But why 
itemize our debts to Greece in the presence of the exiles 
from the land that was Greece at the time of her greatest 
glory. There they were, six thousand of them, on the hill- 
side — families that had known the comforts of life, eating 
mush or beans out of one pan with the help of a bit of 
bread, for lack of a spoon wherewith to feed themselves. 

Of course, I had to warn Dr. Stasny of the dangers of 
her position, which she recognized fully. She had counted 
the possible costs In advance, and she was on the Island to 

“My children are grown and married,” she said. “I have 
no duties which should take precedence of my duties here.” 

Her presence inspired confidence. She was six feet tall, 
very handsome, unconsciously commanding, and I somehow 
felt that she would make good on that job. A guard of two 
hundred and fifty soldiers was placed at her command, and 
later when the dire predictions of that day were fulfilled, the 
presence of Olga Stasny of Omaha had more influence in 
quelling trouble than the Greek military guard. 

The population of the Island Increased until there were 
seven camps. Some of the nurses and physicians took the 
typhus fever. Dr. Stasny’s chief assistant. Dr. Poum- 
pouras, died. But in spite of all the dangers and difficulties, 
she stayed on the island for five months, leaving her post 
but twice for a few hours during this time. The following 
Is quoted verbatim from a report made by an American 
Committee, Investigating relief organizations in Greece, 
regarding the work of the American Women’s Hospitals on 
MacronIssI Island. 



On the bleak, rocky slopes of this Quarantine Island, there 
are rows upon rows of shallow graves in which are buried the 
victims of typhus and other diseases, and throughout the length 
and breadth of Greece there are thousands of Pontus refugees 
who are alive and well to-day as a result of this self-sacrificing, 
heroic effort on the part of this organization. 

The sun was sinking when we left Macronissi. At a dis- 
tance of a mile perhaps, I turned and scanned the island with 
a glass. There stood Olga Stasny on the shore, shading her 
eyes with her hand, while the last scow from the Ionia 
was pulling into the landing cove, and along the hillside in 
the background the refugees were moving, one after 
another, toward our caldrons — how long could we keep 
them full? 

This disturbing thought was in my mind all the way to 
Athens, and when we reached the Hotel Grande Bretagne, 
dinner was being served. Corps of waiters were passing 
down the aisles with loads of food gathered from the land 
and the sea. Course after course was spread before the 
guests: hors d’oeuvres and cocktails to stimulate flagging 
appetites, followed by soup, fish, fowl, meat, desserts and all 
sorts of trimmings along the way, finished with coffee, 
cigarettes and liquor served in the lounge. 

We are such wasters! I felt like getting a basket and 
gathering up the fragments which remained after each 
course. Why should we all pick, choose, and waste while 
the people off the coast on our island were suffering for 

Fresh from Macronissi, the spell of that horrible place 
was on my spirit. The room seemed full of hungry children. 
Their living faces looked out of the clouds on the ceiling 
as real as the frescoes of great artists, and in my mind’s 
eye, that long line of wretched human beings was moving 
down the rear wall of the dining room towards the mush 
pots of the American Women’s Hospitals. 

How long could we last? The question might easily have 



been answered in that dining room, if some of those pres- 
ent had been rich and charitable. As Health Officer of 
a large city, it had formerly been my practice to observe 
people closely for signs of disease, but for several years 
past, I had been observing them for signs of wealth and 
human sympathy. 

There is a subtle quality of gentleness, loveliness and 
carelessness of self, in the appearance of those who sympa- 
thize deeply with the suffering of mankind: 

The quality of mercy is not strain’d, 

It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven 
Upon the place beneath. It is twice blessed: 

It blesses him that gives and him that takes. 

’Tis mightiest in the mightiest: it becomes 
The throned monarch better than his crown. 

The guests of the Grande Bretagne that evening at dinner 
were not a hope inspiring company. Most of them were 
dressed too richly and carefully. Put not your faith in the 
man who looks like a million dollars ! There was enough 
jewelry displayed in that dining room (some of it secured 
from refugees) to have fed the outcasts on Macronissl 
Island for a month. But experience had taught me not to 
bother with women who hang large fortunes on their per- 
sons, flouting the Lord’s Prayer, leading the weak into 
“temptation” and demanding police protection from the 
results of their own folly. 

“Come out of it and eat your dinner,” said a familiar 
voice at my elbow and out I came. A dinner party was 
passing our table on the way to the lounge. Among them 
was Rose Wilder Lane, a distinguished author, who was 
writing a book, a thrilling tale in which one of our women 
physicians appeared as the central heroic figure. 

Heroism was a necessary quality among the A.W.H. 
physicians and nurses in the field, and the achievements of 
the organization, in the aggregate, were due to the devoted 
service of a large number who were stationed at remote and 



dangerous posts at different times. The stories of Dr. Graff, 
Dr. Parmelee, Miss Mabelle C. Phillips, Mrs. Mabel 
Power, Miss Adah K. Butts, Miss Emily Petty, and many 
others of their type, are epical in character, but the heroine 
of that hour was Dr. Olga Stasny on Marconissi Island. 

Sleep was out of the question, so I joined a party going to 
the Acropolis. The charm of this immortal hill by night 
should, “tease us out of thought as doth Eternity” — but the 
wind was blowing and our tent cities on Macronissi Island 
were insecure. The exquisite Temple of Athena Nike pro- 
claimed the eternal joy and truth of beauty — ^but ugliness 
and pain are also truths eternal. The Caryatides are never 
more beautiful than in the pale light of the moon. For 
two thousand years they have been standing serenely in 
the portico of the Erechtheion and there they will remain 
through coming generations “in midst of other woes than 

Led by familiar strains of music, we followed a winding 
path among fallen columns and fragments of the ages, along 
the side of the Parthenon, and in the deep shadow at the 
base of a marble pillar, as large as an Oregon fir, we found a 
group of our countrymen playing the ukelele and singing, 
“Sweet Rosie O’Grady.” 

Late that night, as a finish to the day, I sent the following 
cable to our Board: 

Refugee conditions indescribable. People, mostly women 
and children, without a country, rejected of all the world; 
unable to speak Greek language; herded and driven like ani- 
mals from place to place; crowded into damp holes and hovels; 
shortage of food, fuel, water, bedding and clothing; cold, hungry, 
sick. Mercy of immediate death withheld. Awotal conducting 
fourteen hospitals and large number of dispensaries in Greece 
and Tgean Islands, combating pestilence under great difficul- 
ties. At present moment Awotal feeding and housing in tents 
and caring for eight thousand people in quarantine on Macro- 
nissi Island. 






A WEEK later I left Athens for Crete and the Grand 
Bretagne forever. It was the only hotel in the city 
where the rates were not regulated by the government. At 
the time of arrival, I had been congratulated on my good 
fortune and told that the Grande Bretagne was so crowded 
that it was only the coincident departure of another relief 
worker that made it possible to secure accommodation for 
me. My stay had been short and far from sweet, and my 
daily account amounted to more than enough to feed thirty 
people on Macronissi Island. As an insurance against 
further extravagance I kept the bill in my pocketbook for 
almost two years, an ever present reminder of the impor- 
tance of a bargaining attitude in strange countries. 

Whenever I opened my purse I stopped and pondered 
the price, with the gratifying result that I learned to travel 
like the Greeks in Greece, the Romans in Rome, the French 
in France, the Germans in Germany and the Russians in 
Russia. It was a profitable change in more than one way, 
and I looked back regretfully upon my old tourist days, the 
lost opportunities and money wasted, when I passed along 
the same routes carefully protected from the normal con- 




tacts of those countries, in special cars and steamships, like 
a lady tortoise moving very exclusively in a cabin de luxe, but 
not getting much out of the trip. 

Traveling in Greek ships on the local run between Piraeus 
and Crete is not a pleasure during the February storms. 
But I was overweight, and a brief period of seasickness will 
do more toward the restoration of a lithe and willowy figure 
than a diet of lettuce leaves and lemon juice for a month. 
A few days without the oily meals served on these vessels 
cannot be counted a hardship. One whiff of the dining room 
was enough, but the stateroom might have been worse. 
Pestilential diseases were prevalent at all the ports harbor- 
ing refugees, and the berths in the ships were likely to be 
infested with carriers. The bedding had seen long, unin- 
terrupted service, but protests on ships of this kind are 
worse than profitless, so I slipped into my vermin-proof bag, 
closed the Inlet, leaving a small airhole, and retired for the 

This health resort was pink in color, a detail which 
had escaped my notice, and slick on the outside affording no 
foothold for pulex or pedicull. These carriers of disease 
were shut off from their natural field, the only approach 
being through a well guarded pass, and in this way the 
danger from typhus fever and bubonic plague was reduced 
to a minimum. 

The Inside of that bag had a home-sweet-homey atmos- 
phere. There was peace and security In its ample folds, 
and whenever I crept Into it and closed the top, I felt like 
reaching out and turning on the bedtime stories. But I 
couldn’t reach out for the reason that the bag was sewed 
up tight all around, the only opening being occupied by my 

Several hours passed before the room steward came to 
earn a few hundred drachmas If possible, but he was so 
startled when I put my head out of that pink bag, that he 
rushed away without pretending to perform any service. 



Within a few minutes, the head steward came to see what 
he could do to make the voyage comfortable, and from that 
time forward there was no lack of attention. Most of the 
stewards and officers of the ship called, on one pretext or 
another, including the captain. 

When jMrs. Marian Cruikshank came out In a rowboat 
to the ship at Canea, Crete, she seemed like an angel from 
“God’s Country.” The personnel of the American Wom- 
en’s Hospitals came from different states, and each one 
referred to her native state as “God’s Countr^n” We were 
both born on the Pacific Coast and had worked together in 
Portland, Oregon, for years, and her “God’s Country” 
was my “God’s Country” — the land of the big trees. She 
was full of talk and enthusiasm, and if there is anybody In 
the world an Oregonian can think out loud to. It Is another 
Oregonian a long way from home. 

For a week we thought out loud whenever we were alone 
together, and the gist of our talks Is contained in the pre- 
ceding and following pages, for which we are jointly respon- 
sible. It is impossible to unscramble and identify ideas 
which we hold In common, and it doesn’t matter anj^way — 
we are both from the same town away out west. 

Crete had more than her quota of refugees, and those in 
Canea were faring better than those on other parts of the 
island. A hundred thousand drachmas had been raised by 
popular subscription, and to this amount M. Venizelos, a 
Caneote by birth, contributed an additional 70,000 drach- 
mas to help the first Influx of refugees. The foreign con- 
sulates and the headquarters of the American Red Cross 
were located at Canea, and this meant a closer supervision 
of food allotments and health conditions. 

Retimo was In greater need of help. The refugees in 
this town exceeded the normal population in number. In 
addition to the “Greek” refugees from Asia Minor, all of 
whom spoke Turkish and whose forefathers had never set 
foot on Greek soil since Asia Minor was Greek, before the 



Turkish Invasion about a thousand years ago, there were 
the “Turkish” refugees from the Interior of the island, who 
fled to the cities because of the danger of Greek reprisals. 

The whole population of Crete, and other parts of 
Greece, was in a hectic state of military emotionalism. 
In view of the attitude in our own safe and placid country 
during the war. It Is amazing that these people, who had 
suffered from Turkish oppression for centuries, did not 
seize upon this opportunity to wipe out everything Turkish 
within reach of Are and sword. 

According to the report of the British vice-consul at 
Herakleion, twenty “Turks” had been killed by enraged 
Christian Cretans. Most of these “Turkish” refugees 
were of Greek and Cretan blood. They spoke Greek and 
had no knowledge of the Turkish language. It was religion, 
not race or nationality, which determined their allegiance. 
Christian or Moslem? That was the vital question. Most 
of the Turks on the Island of Crete were “Turks” merely 
because their forefathers had accepted the Mohammedan 
religion during the Turkish occupation, which lasted two 
and a half centuries, and came to an end, practically, in 
1912, with the help of Venizelos, and the Cretan Declara- 
tion of Independence of Turkey and union with Greece. 

The religion of the fathers had been Instilled into the 
children from generation to generation, and the Turkish 
nationality went with It, although these “Turks” were 
Greek citizens, some of them holding high political offices. 
A great many Greek family names end with the suffix 
“akis,” such as Papadakis and Spiradakis. The Turks 
have no family names, and an effort at adjustment was 
manifested on the part of many Cretan Turks by the volun- 
tary addition of the above suffix to their given Turkish 
names, after which they read : Mohammedakis, Abdulakis, 
etc., and were used as family names. 

Retimo had a large “Turkish” population. Several mem- 
bers of the City Council were “Turks,” and this, perhaps. 



is the reason why so many Cretan “Turks” flocked into 
that town. There was a motley crowd of Turkish-speaking 
“Greeks,” and Greek-speaking “Turks,” and the general 
confusion worse confounded by the presence of Armenian, 
Bulgarian and Russian refugees. 

Housing was out of the question. It was a case of shelter 
from the wind and rain. All the old mosques, churches, 
school buildings and rookeries of every description were 
utilized. The “Turkish” population helped the Greek- 
speaking “Turks” from the interior of Crete; the Christian 
population helped the Turkish-speaking “Greeks” from 
Anatolia, and the American Red Cross and the American 
Women’s Hospitals helped the sick and hungry, regardless 
of religion or nationality. 

An effort was made to force these unfortunate people 
into the country districts, but they would not go if they 
could help it, for the reason that starvation is less likely in 
a town where people who eat regularly are obliged to 
suffer the sight of other human beings without food. Only 
those with strong stomachs can really enjoy a chicken dinner 
with a crowd of hungry children looking through the 

The cafe keepers were distracted. The out-of-door spring 
business would surely be ruined by these hungry, barefooted 
little ragamuffins. They were driven away every few min- 
utes, but the smell of the food brought them back, and 
thoughtless people encouraged them to hang around by oc- 
casionally throwing crusts and tag ends of mutton chops, 
for which they fought, tooth and nail, like the homeless dogs 
of Constantinople. They were far more disquieting to the 
dining public than the dogs of old Constantinople, because 
they had hands, dirty little outstretched hands, pleading 
brown eyes, sweet piping voices, and they had learned the 
English word: “Meat! Meat! Meat!” 

“Zeus!” exclaimed Mrs. Crulkshank. “How I wish 
these kiddies could hang around the Parliament Terrace on 



the Thames, the Capitol Restaurant at Washington, the 
cafes near the Chamber of Deputies at Paris and Rome, 
and particularly around the lake hotels near the Ouchy 
Quay, Lausanne ! 

“Oh, for an amplified wand of Circe and a long reach I 
I would not turn men inside and show their souls in bodily 
form. But talk about exchange of populations — presto ! 
An Instantaneous exchange of populations would be ef- 
fected, and these refugees should take the places of all the 
people in the world whose personal and political schemes 
tend to create refugees. They should sit in the seats of the 
mighty, where there are different knives and forks for all 
the different kinds of food, and like the swine of Circe, they 
should remember their days before the transformation. 

“In this exchange of population, the first should be last 
and the last should be first. There should be representa- 
tives of all the countries making up the League of Nations, 
from all nations represented officially or unofficially at Lau- 
sanne, from the governing bodies of all the great states of 
the world, members of commissions, a few relief workers 
and other missionaries. One ‘exalted cyclops’ of my per- 
sonal acquaintance should be changed into a little refugee 
boy starved and shivering, with his pinched face pressed 
against the pane of the restaurant window at Retimo, and 
the hunger of all refugee children pleading for food through 
his famished eyes.” 

“Mercy! Mercy, what a Bolo!” I interrupted, stemming 
this flow of feeling, which was as a spark to the powder 
of my own Circeness. “Let us spare the exalted, man- 
devouring Cyclops. Perhaps he will reform.” 

“Perhaps,” agreed the head of our island service, cheer- 
fully. “But in the Interest of safety and childhood, let us 
put out his eye. On second thought I wouldn’t make a 
refugee, even If I had the wand of Circe and the necessary 
reach. Refugee makers ought to be refugees In Hell for all 
eternity — the good old camp-meeting Hell. Justice on earth 



is a joke. Two months on these islands has convinced me 
that the world needs a Heaven and Hell hereafter, and I 
am strong for the restoration of these institutions. 

The epidemic at Herakleion had not developed in ac- 
cordance with Mrs. Cruikshank’s prediction, and her repu- 
tation as a prophetess was on the decline. Still, she stuck 
to her prophecy, and for fear the blow would fall during 
her absence, took the first boat to the ill-starred station, 
and left me to follow at a later date. 

A storm was raging when Mr. B. D. MacDonald of the 
Red Cross and I reached Herakleion on an Italian Lloyd 
liner, which touched at that port en route to Egypt. After 
standing offshore twelve hours waiting for the wind to 
subside, in order to land passengers, the captain calmly an- 
nounced that he would take us to Suda Bay, about seventy 
miles from where we wanted to go, and ten miles from 
Canea, where we embarked, because at that point there was 
a fine harbor where the metropolis of Crete should have 
been located. 

This decision affected a large number of passengers, in- 
cluding a Cretan prefet, and the Turkish sub-prefet of the 
Canea district, and naturally, created considerable protest. 
But captains are arbitrary men, and this one said we could 
either get off at the nearest bad weather harbor on the 
Island of Crete, or we could take a round trip to Egypt on 
a stormy sea at a cost of $120, and he could promise us our 
money’s worth of mal de mer. He strongly advised us 
to get off at Suda Bay, walk over the hill about ten miles 
back to Canea, and catch the next local boat to Herakleion. 
Could anything be easier? No, they would not return the 
fares we had already paid, for the reason that we had been 
to Herakleion, and it was not the fault of the company 
that we could not get ashore. 

We tried to listen to the Italian captain with an open 
mind and Cretan point of view, through an interpreter who 
was manifestly modifying the spirit and letter of the cap- 



tain’s remarks for the sake of our feelings. After all, this 
misfortune, according to the classification of American in- 
surance companies, was an act of God, for which no mortal 
man or corporation should be held responsible. Even Saint 
Paul experienced difficulties with the weather on the coast 
of Crete, which he accepted philosophically. 

The captain was right. Suda Bay is a perfect harbor 
and a wonderful site for a city at this day and age. But 
the cities of Crete were not built during this day and age, 
and at the time they were built Suda Bay was altogether 
too easy a harbor for any city. 

We telephoned to Canea for a conveyance, and while 
waiting tramped the hills overlooking the sea, which were 
flecked with anemones, red, white and blue, announcing an 
early spring. The road to Canea was hedged here and 
there with century plants, an occasional central stalk shoot- 
ing upward to flower later in the season. 

I had already inspected our work at this town, but we 
went over it again, after which we walked along the quay 
of the artificial harbor. The old stone galley-slips are still 
in good order, and it was not hard to imagine Ben Hur, a 
galley slave, and thousands of others resting on their oars 
as the galleys slid into their berths twenty centuries ago at 
this great naval and commercial center midway between 
Rome and Alexandria. 

On a funny little Greek ship, which had also taken refuge 
in Suda Bay, we slipped into Herakleion unannounced a few 
days later, and learned that while we had waited outside 
the harbor on the liner for twelve hours, a large part of 
the population. Including the city and church officers in 
regalia, had waited for us on the quay inside the old Vene- 
tian harbor, built for such ships as the Santa Maria. 

A real Cretan reception had been arranged, and the dis- 
appointment was very great when the liner weighed anchor 
and sailed away toward Egypt. These people had Knossus 
at their door, but Knossus had been there for five thousand 

Entrance to Our Hospital, Retimo, Crete, 1923. 

The Key of the City. 

Menalous Papadakis, Mayor of Retimo, and Dr. Lovejoy, 
of the American Women’s Hospitals. 

One of the Lost Grandmothers. Buddies. 

FuKERAr, OF A Greek-Spe \K i\G Turk. 
Note the fez the head of the coliin. 

Interior of the barracks at TTerakleion (Candie), Crete, where three 
thousand refugees were quarantined for typhus. 



years, and the novelty had worn off. Besides, Mr, Mac- 
Donald and I were alive. We were the living, breathing 
representatives of the great country recently discovered by 
Columbus, a Mediterranean navigator who used to stop at 
Crete on his trips from Genoa to Chios and other yEgean 

“For to admire and for to see” we did not amount to 
much, personally, but we represented the American Red 
Cross and the American Women’s Hospitals, and, in a 
larger sense, the organized compassion of the United States. 
Therefore, we had our little roles in the legitimate drama 
of the generation. We were show people, and Demos is 
always show hungry, especially in out of the way places. Any 
sort of a spectacle is better than none at all, and the popula- 
tion of Herakleion, refugee and resident, expected us to 
arrive with the trappings, pomp, ceremony, and parade 
worthy of the great nation we represented on that small 

Demos was disappointed, but a reception was afterward 
arranged at which we met the representatives of the ancient 
city. Glancing across the room on this occasion, I noticed 
the head of our insular service in solemn conclave with a 
group of Cretan officials. They were talking English, 
French and Greek with the aid of an interpreter and the 
original sign languages. Such a pantomime ! I was mani- 
festly the subject of this conference, for they were looking 
me over carefully from time to time. Finally, this lady 
from my own home town, masked in an absolutely inscrut- 
able expression of countenance, came to me and said: “The 
gentlemen with whom I have been talking are all officials 
of this island. They take their duties seriously. They are 
deeply concerned regarding a report which has been circu- 
lated by the officers and crew of the steamship on which 
you came to this Island from the Port of Piraeus, and they 
have requested me to ascertain the facts, in order that they 
may officially deny or affirm this report. The truth, the 



whole truth and nothing but the truth, must be told. Do 
you, or do you not, sleep in a pink bag?” 

The fame of our Herakleion clinic, which was located at 
the end of the enormous refugee barracks, had reached the 
headquarters at Athens, but I was none the less astonished 
at the large number of patients cared for daily at that sta- 
tion. There were only about 20,000 refugees in the city, 
but most of them were sick as a result of exposure and 
deprivation, and thousands came to our clinic for treatment. 
At this time, February and March, 1923, the records show 
that 1840 visits daily were made by the sick to our clinics 
at Mitylene, Chios, Canea, Retimo and Herakleion. 

The American Red Cross was doing an enormous work 
feeding and clothing the refugees on these islands. The 
following is taken from the Red Cross report regarding 
conditions at Crete in the early part of 1923 : 

The strictly medical side of tlie work on the Island of Crete 
has been cared for very effectively by the American Women’s 
Hospitals, to which, organization the Red Cross has given sev- 
eral thousand dollars’ worth of supplies, in addition to a good- 
spirited cooperation. . . . There are two phases of the work 
of this organization. — hospitalization and clinics for baby feeding 
and general medical treatment. . . . The municipal hospital at 
Canea, with a bed capacity of fifty, is a well-run institution. 
It is being enlarged to accommodate thirty more beds, and is 
so well-managed that the A. W. H. has thought it unnecessary 
to do more than to supplement the supply lists occasionally. At 
Retimo and Herakleion, however, the municipal hospitals were 
so poorly operated that the American Women’s Hospitals took 
complete charge. The buildings were renovated by the Town 
Councils and turned over with existing equipment. The Hera- 
kleion Hospital accommodates one hundred, and the Retimo 
Hospital sixty patients. The A. W. H. emplo}'s sixty people to 
operate their institutions, and the Red Cross allows a thousand 
calories of food daily to each patient. 

My reaction toward the refugee barracks at Herakleion 
was an echo of Mrs. Cruikshank’s. It seemed impossible 
that three thousand human beings could have occupied the 



place all winter without developing pestilential diseases. 
Many of the families attempted to preserve a semblance of 
privacy by hanging shawls or sacking around their few 
feet of space. The home instinct and art of housekeeping 
revealed itself in the arrangement of their pitiful belongings. 

As we passed through this barracks and court, crowds of 
people flocked after us, some speaking English and others 
trying to make their wants known through interpreters. 
All the women voiced the same petition. Couldn’t the 
Americans do something to help them get their husbands 
and sons, who were detained in Turkey? One group of 
women with a chosen spokesman barred our path. This 
was the “Soap and Water Committee.” T^^Y realized the 
danger of diseases and the importance of cleanliness. The 
water supply was limited and the wretched, inadequate 
wooden troughs used as wash tubs were the greatest cause 
of trouble among the women of the barracks. 

“Give us soap, water and tubs,” they pleaded, “and we 
will keep the place clean.” Mrs. Cruikshank promised soap, 
but water and tubs were not so easy to secure. 

The most pathetic group of women in the barracks were 
the lost grandmothers. In the rush and confusion of em- 
barkation at Smyrna, these poor old women, in many in- 
stances carrying grandchildren in their arms, became sep- 
arated from their families, and were put on the wrong ships. 
Five months had passed and still they were hoping some- 
time, somewhere, to find their families. A sweet-faced old 
woman stayed close to my side as I passed through the bar- 
racks court. Time after time she laid her hand upon my 
arm and said something to me which I did. not understand. 
At last I stopped and asked the interpreter what she wanted. 

“She doesn’t want anything,” he said. “She is just telling 
you that she will ask God to take away her years, and add 
them to yours, because you can do so much for her people, 
and she is only a burden to them.” 

The next day a case of typhus fever was reported from 



the barracks. The second day six cases, the third day fif- 
teen cases, and Mrs. Cruikshank’s reputation as a proph- 
etess was established on the Island of Crete forever. All 
the noncontagious and surgical cases were removed from 
the hospital, the typhus cases sent there, and the whole place 
quarantined. With plenty of soap, water and adequate de- 
lousing facilities, typhus is an easy disease to control, but 
a shortage of these necessities constitutes a heavy handicap 
in the management of an epidemic. 

Maintaining the quarantine at the hospital was easy, but 
at the barracks it was a difficult job. Fortunately, there 
was a stockade around part of the building, and the Gov- 
ernment supplied us with soldiers who guarded the gates. 
Our physicians examined every person in the barracks daily, 
removing the infected to the hospital. A corps of orderlies 
were selected from among the refugees to fetch and carry 
for the three thousand inmates of the barracks, which was 
without sanitary conveniences of any kind. 

“The day after you left we had a revolt at the barracks,” 
wrote Mrs. Cruikshank. “The physicians came to me in a 
body and reported that they dared not go inside the stock- 
ade for the very good reason that the refugees, holding 
them responsible for the quarantine, had threatened to kill 
them. A guard of gendarmes was provided, but the doctors 
were wary and wouldn’t go inside, saying that they knew 
those people and they would kill the gendarmes too. 

“Something had to be done. With a guard of soldiers 
and four physicians who finally volunteered, I went down 
into the enclosure. Sullen-faced and ready for trouble, the 
rebels were standing around the inside walls of the stockade, 
with plenty of loose cobblestones at hand, waiting to receive 
the visiting physicians, who w'ere also refugees, and whose 
authority was resented and resisted. 

“Why should these doctors, whom they had known from 
childhood, be raised up and put in authority over them? 
They, too, were refugees. Why should they come and go 



at will, saying ‘Do this and do that’ to their neighbors, who 
were prisoners in this horrible place because of the false 
and wicked words of these physicians. 

“The situation was ticklish, and I could hardly keep a 
straight face while I told them that I was responsible for 
the quarantine, and if they cooperated they would soon be 
free, but if they resisted, they wmuld be confined a long time 
and many of them might die. An instantaneous and unani- 
mous change of front occurred. It was as though the God- 
dess of Liberty from the land where they all wanted to go 
had spoken. 

“‘Zito! Zito!’ they cried, and the revolution was over 
without the incidence of cobblestones. The idea of volun- 
tary cooperation appealed to their democratic aspirations. 
We were handicapped by lack of machinery, but mountains 
can be moved by hands if there are willing hands enough. 
The entire population of the barracks joined the health 
campaign that morning, and with means available, set to 
work delousing with a will. 

“ ‘Double, double, toil and trouble!’ The Mayor and a 
Committee of Councilors w'ere waiting in my office when 
I returned from the barracks stockade, and I knew from the 
way they were counting their amber beads that something 
unusual had occurred. These bead shock-absorbers never 
show which way the wind blows, but they Indicate the 
velocity of the storm. 

“Smallpox had been reported from a camp of refugees 
on the outskirts of Herakleion and also from Canea and 
Retlmo. The island had been simultaneously invaded by the 
alien enemies, smallpox and typhus. Could anything be 
more terrible? 

“Epidemics had swept over Crete time after time during 
the centuries, and their records read like the Black Plague 
of London. Earthquakes, fires, or pirates were preferable 
in the way of disasters. Plague is an invisible, death-dealing 
enemy, spreading like a blight and creeping upon its victims 



unaware. There is no means of defense, nobody and noth- 
ing to shoot at. The situation was appalling, and the island 
officials were in a state of panic. 

“My standing as a prophetess had gone up, and for 
rational reasons. It was time for me to predict fair weather. 
The spring was coming, a stock of vaccine, a delouser over- 
due for months, and a large consignment of soap, had just 
been received. My attitude, therefore, became encourag- 
ing. Applied science provided an Invulnerable defe'nse 
against disease, I argued. 

“The Cretan officials manifestly entertained doubts, but 
they said that they were glad to hear this good news, and 
they were perfectly willing to give the American Women’s 
Hospitals a commission to fight typhus and smallpox to 
the death. Within half an hour we were headed for the 
camp from which smallpox had been reported with an ample 
supply of vaccine. After the manner of human beings, the 
refugees had kept quiet about the existence of this disease 
until Death had reported it for them. Meanwhile it had 
gotten a good start. There was an ill-equipped hospital 
with accessory cottages in the district v/hich had been turned 
into a pest-house worthy of the name. Here the sick had 
been received without a diagnosis, and no one knew what 
was the matter with them until the eruption appeared, and 
at about the same time the disease broke out in the camps. 

“Varioloid, my Oregon acquaintance, was a benign dis- 
order with a few pustules here and there, but the confluent 
kind of smallpox I met In Crete is frightful. As I passed 
through those awful wards I could feel the loathsome, 
deadly hand of Old Smallpox at my throat, and I did not 
blame the local nurses and other employees for running 
away and leaving the unfortunate patients lying three and 
four in a bed, dressed just as they were when they staggered 
into the place. Some of them were wearing sheepskin coats 
with the dirty wool gummed up and sticking to their sup- 
purating bodies. The floors, walls, beds, bedding, clothing, 



and the poor sufferers themselves, in this hideous setting, 
constituted a sight such as we read about in old books on 
smallpox epidemics of two hundred years ago. 

“This center was cleaned up immediately, and a small- 
pox pavilion opened near our typhus hospital in cobperation 
with local agencies. The American Women’s Hospitals 
provided all employees and part of the equipment and sup- 
plies for both of these places. The American Red Cross 
furnished part of the equipment, and allowed a thousand 
calories of food daily for every patient received. Camps 
were inspected systematically. Over 20,000 people were 
vaccinated against smallpox, while approximately 15,000 
were deloused in an effort to stamp out typhus, with the 
gratifying result that these epidemics were under control 
by the end of the period of incubation. 

“Great was the rejoicing, official and unofficial. Medical 
science and Christianity, mobilized by means of the Al- 
mighty Dollar, had triumphed gloriously over the forces of 
evil. The Cretans were grateful. As an expression of 
appreciation the municipal fathers of the old city of Retimo, 
in extraordinary session assembled, changed the name of 
the street leading from the quay to the hospital, to Lovejoy 
Street, and hung a flattering portrait of me in the hospital 
which is to remain there forever unless somebody takes it 
down. This gesture was but a feeble indication of their 
sentiments. They would gladly have moved their historic 
island across the ocean and joined the Union.” 

At Herakleion a unique banquet was given in honor of the 
American relief workers in the summer of 1923. With the 
consent of Sir Arthur Evans, the ruins of the excavated 
Palace of King Minos were bedecked with bright colors, 
and festal tables spread in the royal banquet hall for the 
first time since the destruction of the Minoan civilization, 
which antedated the ancient Greek civilization. 

The midsummer night had been carefully chosen. The 
moon was at its maximum, lighting the ruins and casting 



a sheen over the undulating sea. The food was plain and 
the service simple, but the man in the moon had never 
looked down on a more dramatic setting. 

The Prefet of Herakleion was a good speaker, but no 
one could measure up to such a background. Here was the 
beginning and the end, so far as we have been able to read, 
the first and the last chapter of the continued story of 
humanity. The obvious parallel between the destruction of 
the JMinoan civilization and current events in Asia Minor 
was drawn by the Prefet. He spoke with deep feeling re- 
garding the work of Americans for the relief of Christian 
outcasts on the Tigean Islands, indicating with an Intimate 
gesture over the sea to the right, the site of Smyrna, and 
in the next breath dropping back two thousand years to 
Carthage, the metropolis, which once stood on the north 
coast of Africa to his left. Another thousand years, at 
least, were as quickly skimmed over, and he described the 
destruction of Knossus, the prehistoric capital of Crete, the 
ruins of which echoed and attested his words. This story 
of Smyrna, Carthage and Knossus seemed like a thrice told 
tale, with a change in names, time, place and one important 
detail. “Poor Minoans !” he said. “There were no Amer- 
icans to help them in their last extremity.” 

Soft strains of music floated through the royal ruins and 
over the silvery sea, facilitating flights of the imagination: 

bptt~1 — 


^ V- 



* — • f- 

The eternal love song suggested the whispering wraiths of 
Theseus and Ariadne in the weird shadows of the labyrinth. 
But man cannot live on love alone. He must have other 



diversions. The orchestral theme suddenly changed and 
the dine of the drums, horns and sounding brass might 
equally have heralded the beginning of the bull fight in 
Mexico City on Sunday afternoon, or the charge of the 
Minotaur at Knossus four thousand years ago. 


“her majesty the queen” — “five hundred 
millionaires!” MY FAR-AWAY COUSIN 

S TEAMING in to Piraeus, I had looked anxiously toward 
Macronissi Island, and my first questions on landing 
were for Dr. Stasny and her assistants, personally braving 
the dangers of that terrible place. The work was going 
well, but among those who had been stricken with typhus 
was a young American nurse whose life at that moment was 
in the balance. Smallpox at Crete was not reported until 
after my departure, but I might have known it was there. 
Typhus and smallpox were traveling together on most of 
the refugee ships, and by a strange coincidence they ran their 
course together at different places. One pest island was 
enough to worry about — now we had two. Over and over, 
I read the cables reporting the progress of the epidemics at 
Crete, which emphasized the insistent and sleep-disturbing 
question, “How long can we last?” 

The answer to that question was my principal business in 
life. It was a question of money, and I was chief beggar 
for the organization. Calls were coming from all directions. 
Several appeals for hospital installations had been received 
during my absence in Crete, which could not be refused. 
God give us the Almighty Dollar — Thousands! Hundreds 
of thousands ! ! Millions ! ! ! — This was my prayer. 

There was a black-bordered letter with a crown in the 
upper left corner, addressed to me, in the accumulated mail, 
which read as follows : 




March 3ra, 1923. 

The lady in waiting to Her Majesty the Queen has the 
honor to inform you that her Majesty will receive you on 
Tuesday, March 6th, at 12^. 

(signed) Effie T. Kalergie. 

Her Majesty the Queen would receive me on March sixth. 
That was the following day, and I went to bed planning, 
scheming, thinking, not about what I should wear or say 
to the Queen, but how to get the money to care for the sick 
among her refugee subjects. 

Just as I was leaving the hotel for the Royal Palace next 
morning, a publicity man from another organization came 
in and reported the arrival of the Mauretania on the 
cruise de luxe of the season. “There are five hundred mil- 
lionaires aboard that ship,” he said, and while mentally 
discounting this report, I realized the importance of sailing 
on the Mauretania with all those unprotected millionaires. 

Perhaps this “Golden Special” was the answer to our 
prayers for money. There was wealth, millions of dollars, 
and a flood of human sympathy. There was life for thou- 
sands of Christian outcasts, and all that was lacking was the 
word, the genius, to release this life-saving power. The 
godliness of the enterprise transcended the possibilities of 
my spirit, and while I silently prayed for inspiration I 
laughed aloud at the little things along the way, including 
myself, in an effort to maintain an even mental keel in a 
sea of aberration. 

Not a minute was to be lost. There was no telling when 
the “Golden Special” might speed away. Time seemed so 
precious. With “five hundred millionaires” slipping through 
my fingers, I was obliged to spend an hour calling on the 

This unprecedented experience induced a new and har- 
rowing sensation. On the horns of this dilemma, I was 
sitting in the royal anteroom when an American representa- 
tive came in with Mrs. Gary, to whom he introduced me 



with the casual but supremely comforting remark that she 
was from the Mauretania. Her presence seemed provi- 
dential. I knew the ship wouldn’t go without her, besides 
her pin money was more than enough to support our work 
on MacronissI Island. 

How long can we last? By day and by night, waking or 
sleeping, talking or dreaming, these five wmrds ran through 
all of my mental processes, and In the presence of a prospect, 
this ulterior motif seemed to speed up and become more 

Mrs. Gary was there to visit the Queen, and she was 
manifestly Interested in the fact that my call came first. 
“There is a tide in the affairs of men, which taken at the 
flood leads on to fortune.” This was the time, place and 
woman. That Shakesperlan line was written for this occa- 
sion. But woe is me ! Just as I was leading cautiously “on 
to fortune” the Lady in Waiting appeared and led me into 
the Royal Presence. 

Elizabeth, Queen of Greece, was every inch a queen, and 
a very nice girl. She was deeply Interested In the work 
of the American Women’s Hospitals. That Is why she sent 
for me. We were both engaged in the big business of sav- 
ing human lives, and I should have suggested that Mrs. 
Gary be Invited to our conference, with the hope of finding 
further support for the American Women’s Hospitals. 

Among the lost opportunities of my life, I count that 
audience with the Queen of Greece while Mrs. Gary waited 
in the anteroom. When I went out she went In, and the 
door closed fatefully. Passing along the corridor and down 
the blue-carpeted stairs, I exchanged perfunctory pleasan- 
tries with the American representative and others, but the 
only face I really saw was the sweet, reproachful face of 
an old woman who was not there — a lost grandmother 
quarantined in our barracks on the Island of Crete. 

Within an hour I boarded the Mauretania and made 
the terrible mistake of announcing my presence to the 


purser. I should have kept quiet until the ship was well on 
her way. Success hinges on such details. 

A partial quarantine had existed against Greece for 
weeks. This should have been a complete quarantine so 
far as tourists were concerned, and it should have extended 
to Constantinople and adjacent ports on the Bosphorus, 
where pestilential diseases were prevalent. The danger at 
Constantinople was greater than at Piraeus and Athens, for 
the reason that a false sense of security existed regarding 
that port. Through our own agents, we knew that the 
worst pest-hole in the world at that moment, was the old 
Selimieh Barracks at Scutari, the Asiatic section of Con- 
stantinople, where 10,000 refugees were in quarantine. 

The passengers of the Mauretania were just returning 
from their sightseeing excursion in Athens when I went 
aboard. For several hours they had been riding in public 
conveyances with native drivers and guides. These con- 
veyances were in use every day in the city of Athens and 
at the Port of Piraeus, for the transportation of anybody 
and everybody, sick or well. Some of these automobiles 
were nicely upholstered, and might easily harbor typhus lice 
and bubonic fleas. The danger was very great, but the 
tourists didn’t know it, and what we don’t know, doesn’t 
hurt us unless it happens. 

I had been immunized against every quarantinable dis- 
ease existing in the Mediterranean countries, except typhus 
fever. No immunizing serum for typhus was available, but 
I had taken every precaution possible against infection. 
From the standpoint of an intelligent health officer, I was 
one of the best risks on that ship — one of the persons least 
likely to carry a pestilential disease, and conscious of this 
fact, I was hoping that my profession might get me by any 
special quarantine rules. 

This idea shocked the purser. “Orders are orders,” he 
remarked, and an expression of apprehension spread over 
his face as he inwardly visualized the dire possibilities my 



presence entailed. Still I argued that I belonged to a pro- 
fession to which special privileges are extended In matters 
of quarantine. For years I had walked unhindered In and 
out of houses, hospitals and Isolation camps, regardless of 
the yellow, green or red flags. Why shouldn’t I travel on 
the Mauretania? I was convinced that I should, and the 
purser was clearly In doubt. 

“We have been allowed to land tourists with the under- 
standing that they go directly from the landing at Phaleron 
to the Acropolis and back to the ship In conveyances pro- 
vided by the company,” he said, “and with the further 
understanding that no other passengers be allowed to come 
aboard at this port. Your being a doctor may make a 
difference. Let us go and see the captain.” 

“Quashed!” said I to myself, for In judicial matters I 
had little confidence In captains. Besides, I was over forty, 
my hair was straight, I wore glasses, and although I had 
traveled extensively on all kinds of ships, I hadn’t been 
Invited for at least ten years to stand on the bridge at 

“No!” barked the court of last resort belligerently, with- 
out reviewing the case, and an Imp of Insubordination which 
had slept for a generation, suddenly awakened In the depths 
of my being. Where had I heard that word before In just 
that tone of voice? 

The captain looked and spoke like my English relations. 
The chances are he came from Kent and belonged to the 
“Klan Knute,” the “heathen horde” from which my tribe 
originated. He was undoubtedly one of my far-away 
cousins. The family feeling was unmistakable. The minute 
I looked at his face I wanted to choke him. 

“No!” From the time I could remember, that arbitrary 
word had blocked my way, and by virtue of Inherited Kent- 
Ishness, I had resisted with tenacity unbecoming a “little 
lady” and with many a good spanking In the bargain. 

“Special orders just received from Liverpool to take no 



passengers at this port,” continued the tyrant of the high 
seas, addressing his remarks to the purser and ignoring 
my unimportant presence. “If any one comes aboard here, 
the ship may be quarantined at the next port. Put this 
lady ashore.” 

Worse and more of it! The word “lady” had a menac- 
ing sound. I was glad he didn’t say “little lady.” This 
expression of politeness had usually been followed by a 
tanning, and that timely treatment had resulted In a spe- 
cial psychological resistance, which saved my quaking spirit 
in this emergency, otherwise, I might have been crushed by 
being put ashore ignominously by a present-day English sea 
captain at the very place where Xerxes reviewed his fleet 
and held his Council of Kings on September 27, 480 B.C. 

The associations of this spot were peculiarly comforting 
from a feminist standpoint. Great Xerxes, King of Kings, 
(“this is Ahasuerus which reigned, from India even unto 
Ethiopia, over an hundred and seven and twenty provinces”) 
who was afterward victimized by the wily Mordecai and 
fair Esther, presided at that memorable conference. The 
King of SIdon occupied first place In the Council, the King 
of Tyre second, but the one woman member, Artemisia, 
Queen of Halicarnassus, occupies first place in the history 
of that epochal day forever, simply because she realized 
the immortal power of the written word. She stood in 
with the scribes. Herodotus was a friend of hers. Besides, 
she cast the only vote against attacking the Greeks at Sala- 
mls, and laid before the Council a less spectacular project 
more likely to win. 

At the battle of Salamis, Artemisia again exhibited that 
quality of judgment which would have saved the day before 
it began if Xerxes and his Council of Kings had taken her 
advice. She was one of the first to quit. Her galley had 
speed and tonnage, and in her haste to get away, she ran 
down smaller vessels, friend or foe, which had the ill luck 
to cross her course. 



Artemisia’s tactics made a hit with Xerxes. He was 
partial to ladles, and from his special throne on the cliff 
overlooking the Bay of Salamis, where he witnessed the 
defeat of his navy of a thousand ships, he recognized the 
towering galley of the Queen, but not the smaller vessels 
sinking under her keel. Naturally, he assumed that they 
were enemies, and marked Artemisia for future favor. 

A king sat on the rocky brovv^ 

Which looks o’er sea-born Salamis; 

And ships, by thousands, lay below, 

And men in nations — all were his! 

He counted them at break of day — 

And when the sun set where were they? 

Queen Artemisia and the other survivors were at the Per- 
sian naval base located at Phaleron, where the captain of 
the Mauretania put me ashore twenty-five centuries later. 

Fancy the feelings of a poor American beggar, stand- 
ing on that historic strand watching the Mauretania with 
“five hundred millionaires’’ disappearing in the distance. 
But the beggar didn’t do that. She hadn’t the time. From 
the unsuspecting purser, she had learned that there were 
no quarantine regulations against Constantinople, and it 
was up to her to reach that port in time to catch the 
Mauretania and sail with the millionaires for Egypt. 
With a hat pulled over her face, that purser would never 
recognize her. There would be plenty of time during the 
trip via Palestine to Egypt to get acquainted with the pas- 
sengers and size up the situation. If the prospects war- 
ranted a complete change of plans, she might stay on the 
ship for the home voyage. All preliminary work could be 
done quietly and when the ship was away out In the ocean 
where there were no islands on which she might be ma- 
rooned, she could take oft her hat and campaign openly 
for funds. 

The possibilities were dazzling. Perhaps she could get 
a million dollars for the American Women’s Hospitals. 



Besides, she hoped to meet that captain again about a hun- 
dred miles east of the quarantine station at the port of New 
York. She longed to tell him in a soft Oxford tone, which 
she sometimes used on Sundays, about her recent experiences 
smallpoxing on the Mgean Islands. 

No quarantine regulations were being enforced against 
Greece in connection with ordinary travel. Ships were 
leaving the port of Piraeus every day for different parts of 
the world. I had other business in Constantinople, and the 
possibility of killing two birds with one stone made a hasty 
departure Imperative. My car broke the traffic regulations 
to the different steamship offices and before the Mauretania 
weighed anchor at Phaleron, I was off on a little Italian 
ship for the City of the Golden Horn. 

That vessel was unworthy of Mussolini and the Fascists. 
She was too slow for this day and generation of Italians. 
She lost hours en route, and was further delayed by the 
leisurely methods of the port officials at Constantinople. 
Slowly, slowly, little by little, she edged toward the dock, 
and just as we were ready for debarkation, the Mauretania 
steamed swiftly out of the harbor, and was lost with all 
aboard to the American Women’s Hospital. 





T he City of the Golden Horn had never looked so good 
to me. There she stood in all her beauty — Pera and 
Galata, as well as Stamboul. The great hotels, embassies, 
schools and hospitals were uninjured, and the peoples of all 
the world, including American tourists, were walking the 
streets in perfect safety. The massacre, which was daily 
expected at Constantinople at the time I left the city during 
the first week of October, 1922, had not materialized for 
the very reason which would have prevented the calamity 
at Smyrna. The time was ripe, the loot in sight, the spirit 
willing, but the strong arm of the Turk was not strong 
enough. The Great Powers protected Constantinople and 
she was saved from an immediate and violent finish, but 
doomed to gradual decline by a slow garroting process. 

The Inter-Allied Commission, English, French and 
Italian, was still running the city in March, 1923, and 
Americans in large numbers were voluntarily umpiring the 
game. Warships galore, flying the Stars and Stripes, the 
Union Jack, Tri-color, and all sorts of colors, were in the 
stream. The Petit-Champs, where the officers of all nations 
met, was gay and festive by night, with Russian nobility 
furnishing the entertainment and waiting on the tables, and 
down the hill nearer the Barbary Coast, “Dinty Moore’s 



Place for American Sailors” was also doing a thriving busi- 

Soldiers, sailors and civilians from far countries elbowed 
each other on the Grand Rue, and on some of the petites 
rues. American and British officers, manifestly first cousins 
and terribly alike, tall and fair against the darker back- 
ground of the peoples of Constantinople, contrasted strik- 
ingly in dark blue and khaki, with the French officers in 
gray blue, and the Italians in their sleek, olive uniforms. 

Constantinople is a vampire city. Wicked, beautiful and 
fascinating, she has always been part and parcel of strife, 
suffering, romance, mystery and tragedy. Her setting and 
background create illusions. She is loved, not for what 
she actually is or has been, but for what she is capable of 
making men feel that she is and has been. The ghosts of 
old Stamboul are a thrilling host, and the flocks of strange, 
swift birds that skim the waves and never come to rest, are 
aptly called, “The lost souls of the Bosphorus.” 

Strange as it may seem, many good people, American, 
English, French, have preferred this “Mystery Babylon 
the Great,” with her confusion of tongues, to their own 
home towns as a place of residence. Order is heaven’s first 
law, and there is no country in the world more orderly than 
dear old England. This may be the reason so many Eng- 
lishmen live in the East and go home to die. 

During the continuous celebration following the victory 
of the Turkish Nationalists in Asia Minor, red was the 
dominant color in Constantinople. The country had not 
gone Communist, but the Turkish flag is red, marked with a 
star and crescent, and the city looked as though an epidemic 
of scarlet fever was raging. The general inflammation was 
subsiding somewhat, l)ut large numbers of red flags were 
still to be seen waving proudly from the tops of buildings, 
hanging from doors, windows, balconies and peeping sur- 
reptitiously from the lattices of Stamboul. 

Red flags and lights are danger signals in my native land, 



indicating open manholes, ditches and other dangers : “Stop, 
look, listen!” is suggested by this color. There is some- 
thing alarming and disturbing to the emotional equilibrium 
of men and animals in the flaunting of red bunting. This 
psychological weakness is exploited in bull fights and other 
demonstrations. The sun never sets on the red flag. Wild 
men and women the world around, naturally run to red, 
while tame ones prefer subdued colors, and wherever there 
is a flaming shirt, there is also a flaming shirtwaist although 
it may be worn beneath a tcharchaff. 

On previous visits to Constantinople, I had met some 
of the leaders of the feminist movement, Turkish women 
of outstanding ability. Several of these were zealous nation- 
alists, as eager to get into the currents of the world as 
prisoners are to get out of jail. At Angora, the woman 
movement is in the nature of a graceful, up-to-date, political 
gesture in the right direction. And here’s hoping that the 
women of Anatolia will take this seriously, and rise up some 
fine morning, voluntarily burn their gags and veils, smile 
expansively, open their windows and let the blessed sun- 
shine in. 

The Nationalists did not start the feminist movement 
in Turkey. On the contrary, this ferment helped to start 
the Nationalists. “It is like a leaven which a woman took 
and hid in three measures of meal, till the whole was leav- 
ened.” And the “woman” was Flora Bowen, Frances Gage, 
Grace Kimball, Emily MacCallum, Minnie Mills, Mary 
Patrick and a score of others. Thousands of girls, Chris- 
tian and Moslem, have been educated in the schools con- 
ducted by such women, American and British, who have 
lived and worked in Turkey during the past fifty years. 

Dr. Safieh Ali, a Turkish woman physician who recently 
started to practice in Constantinople, is the educational 
product of the Constantinople College for Girls, plus a 
medical degree and post graduate work in different Euro- 
pean countries. She was the delegate from Turkey to the 

Kemalist soldiers in Constantinople after the Greco-Turkish War. 

His Holiness, the Patriarch Meletios, leaving the Patriarchal Throne 

at Constantinople. 

“A Lady with a Lamp Shall Stand.” 

Refugees leaving Asiatic Constantinople after being quarantined in Selimleh 

Barracks, tlie very building in which Florence Nightingale worked durins- 



Third General Conference of the Medical Women’s Inter- 
national Association at London in 1924, and received an 
ovation on account of her charming personality. 

There was a striking change In the conduct of young 
Turks and Turkesses In the public places of Constantinople, 
especially In Pera on the Christian side of the bridge. 
Mild-mannered suffragists, who had been holding meetings 
in semi-secrecy for years, were appearing with bare faces 
and declaring their principles openly, much to the distress 
of the ladles and gentlemen of the old school. But worse 
was yet to come. Within one year, or ere the “funeral 
baked meats” of the Sultanate were cold, these coura- 
geous leaders were back numbers. New Turkey favored the 
feminist movement, especially the fox-trot and the Charles- 
ton to jazz music. The Great GhazI smiled Indulgently, 
and In the light of his countenance these movements 
Increased with leaps and bounds. 

The lid Is off In Constantinople. The veil Is rent, the fez 
Is In the dust. The Incubator stands wide open, and fluffy 
little Turkish chicks, flapperettes in short skirts, are dancing 
all night till the broad daylight, while their elders talk In 
whispers of the good old days before the war, when Turks 
were Turks. 

But after all Constantinople Is not Turkey. It is an Inter- 
national city on the outskirts, and the behavior of Turkish 
people In the public places of that metropolis cannot be 
accepted as representing the conduct of Turkish people as a 
whole, any more than the behavior of Americans In the 
public places of New York can be accepted as a standard 
for our country at large. The rural districts of Kansas 
may be nearer to the heart of the nation. 

The American Women’s Hospitals had been asked to 
undertake medical work for the refugees In Constantinople, 
and I was looking for the place where the greatest good 
to the largest number of sick refugees could be done at 
lowest cost. Efforts were being made to keep the Anatolian 

26 o 


refugees out of European Constantinople, but thousands of 
them had seeped in and were living in the Greek and Arme- 
nian sections of the city. On account of inadequate quaran- 
tine facilities in Greece, the stream of refugees from the 
Pontus had been temporarily halted, and this produced a 
congestion on the shores of the Bosphorus. Camps had 
been established to keep these unfortunate people in transit 
segregated, and in all my pilgrimages to pest-holes, the 
worst I ever saw, and undoubtedly the worst in the world at 
that time, was the Selimieh Barracks and stables at Scutari, 
on the Asiatic side of the Bosphorus. 

On March 12, 1923, the following cable was sent by Mr. 
H. C. Jaquith, head of the Near East Relief in the field, to 
the New York headquarters: 

Constantinople March I2, 1923. 

Vickrey, New York 

To-day’s shipload of exiles from Asiatic Turkey increased to 
32,000, the total number of refugees now in Constantinople. 
Sick, destitute and without food, clothing or homes to go to, 
they present a tremendous relief problem calling for prompt, 
energetic action if they are not all to perish. 

In the harbor crowded with twenty-one warships of seven differ- 
ent nations, are four refugee ships crammed with deportees 
from Asia Minor, who have waited for days to be landed. 
Ashore, at eleven different places along the Bosphorus, earlier 
arrivals are huddled together in windowless, doorless, leaky 
buildings under conditions beyond description. Afloat and 
ashore, smallpox, typhus, dysentry and pneumonia are unchecked. 
. . . Weakened by days of travel, by w’agon and foot from 
interior Anatolian or Black Sea ports, Trebizond and Samsoun, 
these w'retched people fall easy victims to disease. Many of 
those who survived their march of terror to the sea died on ship- 
board and 60 per cent of those who lived through the voyage 
on filthy, crowded ships, were diseased on arrival here. 

At Scutari where the worst conditions prevail, 10,000 depor- 
tees are existing in the Selimieh Barracks and stables. . . . Dr. 


Post on one of his rounds counted a hundred dead bodies. 
Wrapped in rags, death had come days before the living knew 
it. One room contained 53 dead. Three thousand people who 
a few weeks ago were prosperous farmers in Anatolia, live 
on the mud floors of stables where many of them become staring 
skeletons from undernourishment. Children are brought into 
the world near where village priests pray over the dead. 


Destiny marks ships and houses as well as men, and this 
barracks must have been the predestined pest-house of all 
history. It was the very building In which Florence Night- 
ingale started the nursing service of the world In 1854, 
during the Crimean War. Time after time It has been 
described, and the following three paragraphs are quoted 
from three different writers, Tooley, Strachey and Nolan — 

The first and chief scene of Miss Nightingale’s personal 
ministrations, however, was the great Barrack Hospital at Scu- 
tari, lent to the British Government by the Turkish authori- 
ties. It was beautifully situated on a hill overlooking the glit- 
tering waters of the Bosphorus, and commanded a view of the 
fair city of Constantinople, with its castellated walls, marble 
palaces, and domes, rising picturesquely on tbe horizon. . . . 
The Barrack Hospital was a fine handsome building, forming 
an immense quadrangle with a tower at each corner. An 
idea of its size may be gathered from the fact that each side of 
the quadrangle was nearly a quarter of a mile long. It was 
estimated that twelve thousand men could be exercised in the 
central court. Galleries and corridors, rising story above story, 
surrounded three sides of the building, and, taken continuously, 
were four miles in extent. (Tooley.) 

Lasciate Ogni speranza, voi ch’entrate: the delusive doors 
bore no such inscription ; and yet behind them Hell yawned. 
Want, neglect, confusion, misery — in every shape and in every 
degree of intensity — filled the endless corridors and the vast 
apartments of the gigantic barrack-house, which without fore- 
thought or preparation, had been hurriedly set aside as the 
chief shelter for the victims of the war. The very building 
itself was radically defective. Huge sewers underlay it, and 



cess-pools loaded with filth wafted their poison into the upper 
rooms. The floors were in so rotten a condition that many of 
them could not be scrubbed; the walls were thick with dirt; 
incredible multitudes of vermin swarmed everywhere. And, 
enormous as the building was, it was yet too small. It con- 
tained four miles of beds, crushed together so close that there 
was but just room to pass between them. (Stracbey.) 

There were no vessels for water or utensils of any kind ; no 
soap, tow’els, or cloths, no hospital clothes; the men lying in 
their uniforms, stiff with gore and covered with filth to a 
degree and of a kind no one could write about; tbeir persons 
covered with vermin, which crawded about the floors and walls 
of the dreadful den of dirt, pestilence, and death to which they 
were consigned. (Nolan.) 

Could anything be worse? Yes! The same building In 
which 10,000 refugees were quarantined for typhus fever 
and smallpox sixty-nine years later was infinitely worse. The 
sick and wounded In that barracks building during the 
Crimean War had beds — “Four miles of beds” and such 
food and care as the most civilized nations had provided for 
soldiers up to that time. But for weeks the refugees had 
no beds or care, and only such food as they, themselves, 
could buy through the Turkish guards, or was brought in 
pity’s name and distributed irregularly. 

The building was very like our Turkish barracks building 
on the Island of Crete, but much larger. The stone walls 
were well preserved, but the interior had fallen into decay. 
The place was a colossal incubator of pestilence. The 
sick and well were sleeping on the reeking floors with disease 
breeding among them and Death gathering in the sheaves. 

On the day of my visit in March, 1923, about a month 
after this barracks and its stables had been quarantined, 
the process of separating the sick from the well had just 
begun. A plan to delouse the barracks and everybody in 
it had been formulated, and a gleam of hope from the 
European side of the Bosphorus was filtering through the 
darkness to the festering mass of humanity within. 


Picking our way carefully among the sufferers squatting 
or lying in that dank and fetid barracks and stables, it was 
hard to imagine that the nursing service of the world, in 
its large and practical application, had originated within 
those walls, and that “The Lady with the Lamp” herself, 
answering the calls of the sick, had glided noiselessly 
through those reeking corridors. The flame of her lamp 
had burned brighter as the years had passed in other coun- 
tries, but it had flickered and gone out at Scutari, leaving 
the old barracks In total darkness. 

The sweet sister stories written around Florence Nightin- 
gale do not explain her achievements. Thank goodness, for 
the other side of her character revealed In a recent book. 
She was a ministering angel, yes — driven by a demon, a 
straight-thinking demon of energy and Intelligence In the 
service of the sick. 

This “Angel of Deliverance” was welcomed with thanks 
to God by the sick and wounded, but the representatives of 
the established order, whose berths were comfortable, enter- 
tained grave misgivings regarding the innovation. They 
did not enjoy adverse criticism. Who does? War was war, 
they said In substance. This was the business of men; they 
were used to It. Conditions in the field were normal under 
the circumstances. There was nothing to complain about — 
and these were honorable men, sincere In their opinions. 
Their official successors of this day, whose opinions are as 
unconsciously fathered by their own desires, might as sin- 
cerely affirm that a state of normalcy exists In the Near East, 
and the suffering incident to the forced exodus of the Chris- 
tian population from Anatolia, Is merely part of the game in 
that country. 

My father served In the British Navy during the Crim- 
ean War. He was a young boy then, and strong for the 
“angel band,” but many of his superiors said that the Lady- 
In-Chlef at Scutari was distressing herself and the world at 
large unduly. Being of the feminine gender, she naturally 


had “nerves,” poor thing. But they soon found out that 
what she really had was nerve. 

. . . Honest Colonels relieved their spleen by the cracking 
of heavy jokes about ‘the bird’; while poor Dr, Hall, a rough 
terrier of a man, who had worried his way to the top of his 
profession, was struck speechless wdth astonishment, and at last 
observed that Miss Nightingale’s appointment was extremely 
droll. ... At first some of the surgeons would have nothing 
to say to her, and, though she was welcomed by others, the 
majority were hostile and suspicious. But gradually she gained 
ground. Her good will could not be denied, and her capacity 
could not be disregarded. 

To the wounded soldier on his couch of agony she might 
well appear in the guise of a gracious angel of mercy; but the 
military surgeons, and the orderlies, and her own nurses, and 
the “Purveyor,” and Dr. Hall, and even Lx)rd Stratford him- 
self could tell a different story. It was not by gentle sweetness 
and womanly self-abnegation that she had brought order out of 
chaos in the Scutari Hospitals, that, from her own resources, 
she had clothed the British Army, that she had spread her 
dominion over the serried and reluctant powers of the official 
world; it was by strict method, by stern discipline, by rigid 
attention to detail, by ceaseless labour, by the fixed determina- 
tion of an indomitable will. Beneath her cool and calm 
demeanour lurked fierce and passionate fires. . . . There was 
humour in the face; but the curious watcher might wonder 
whether it was humour of a very pleasant kind; might ask him- 
self, even as he heard the laughter and marked the jokes with 
which she cheered the spirits of her patients, what sort of 
sardonic merriment this same lady might not give vent to, in 
the privacy of her chamber. 

Late at night, when the long miles of beds lay wrapped in 
darkness. Miss Nightingale would sit at work in her little 
room, over her correspondence. . . . There were hundreds of 
letters to be written to the friends and relations of soldiers; 
there was the enormous mass of official documents to be dealt 
with; . . . and, most important of all, there was the composi- 
tion of her long and confidential reports to Sidney Herbert. 
These were by no means official communications. Her soul, 
pent up all day in the restraint and reserve of a vast responsi- 


bility, now poured itself out in these letters with all its natural 
vehemence, like a swollen torrent through an open sluice. Here, 
at least, she did not mince matters. Here she painted in her 
darkest colours the hideous scenes which surrounded her ; 
here she tore away remorselessly the last veils still shrouding 
the abominable truth. . . , Her sarcasm searched the ranks 
of the officials with the deadly and unsparing precision of a 
machine gun. Her nicknames were terrible. . . . The intol- 
erable futility of mankind obsessed her like a nightmare, and 
she gnashed her teeth against it.* 

These letters and reports referred to by Strachey were 
written by Florence Nightingale at Scutari Barracks during 
the mild Victorian age, when women were supposed to be 
seen and not heard. What would she have written If she 
had lived In these days of free speech, witnessed the horrors 
of Smyrna, and worked among the Christian refugees up- 
rooted and driven from their homes In Anatolia? Perhaps 
she would have Individualized this crime against children, 
and said: “‘Whoso shall offend one of these little ones 
which believe In me. It were better for him that a millstone 
were hanged about his neck, and that he were drowned In 
the depth of the sea.’ ” What would she have written if 
she had actually seen the outcasts from the Pontus quaran- 
tined for typhus fever and smallpox In her old barracks at 
Scutari? What would she have called the men who try to 
save their faces by whitewashing the greatest crime in the 
history of mankind? Lytton Strachey should have published 
those nicknames. They were never needed more than now. 

Among the places which had appealed to us for help, was 
the Greek Hospital at YedI Koule (Seven Towers) outside 
the Byzantine walls where the most tragic part of the his- 
tory of the old city Is writ In stone. This was the largest 
hospital In Constantinople. Founded In 1753, It had grown 
slowly with the support of wealthy Greeks and the Ortho- 
dox Church. Departments for the different branches of 
medical service had been developed, Including separate sec- 

* Strachey. 



tlons with pavilions, cottages, and gardens for the care of 
tuberculosis and other transmissible diseases. Special pro- 
vision had been made for the insane, and there was a home 
for the aged and an orphange for children. 

At the time of our visit, the place was swamped with 
typhus fever. Unfortunately, the disastrous state of affairs 
which filled the wards, deprived the institution of a large 
part of its financial support. There was a shortage of all 
supplies, including ordinary equipment for preventing the 
spread of infection. Several physicians and nurses had been 
stricken with typhus, and some of them had died. But even 
the typhus wards were not so depressing as the psycho- 
pathic section. There was hope for the fever cases. — They 
would either get well or die, but the people whose minds 
had failed, particularly the insane Russian refugees, were a 
hopeless group. 

This hospital was undoubtedly the place where the great- 
est good to the largest number of sick refugees could be 
done at lowest cost in Constantinople. A cooperative plan 
for the care of those in quarantine at Selimieh Barracks 
had already been undertaken by other relief agencies. 
Besides, these people were to be sent to Greece as soon 
as arrangements could be made. The Christian people in 
Constantinople were not to be sent to Greece, and for less 
than it would cost to establish and conduct a refugee hospi- 
tal of a hundred beds in that city, we could keep this well 
established hospital of a thousand beds from closing its 
doors. By supplementing other resources, we could care 
for the refugee sick, both Anatolian and Russian, and help 
this historic institution carry on until, perhaps, adjustment 
could be made to changed conditions. 

Finally, we decided to support a refugee service in cooper- 
ation with this hospital, and while we do not maintain 
American personnel there, our work is done under the 
General Director of the American Women’s Hospitals in 
Southeastern Europe, and funds are transmitted through 


our representative at Constantinople, who keeps a watchful 
eye on this work. 

Official Constantinople was gay and festive during that 
week In March, 1923. Lent was not being strictly observed. 
But Ramadan and Lent, and different calendars of time, 
are confusing In near eastern countries. In the spring of 
the year, young men crave the sight of their own kind of 
girls, and there was a flutter among the American and 
British officers on account of the tourist ships coming and 
going with the loveliest creations from the United States 
that ever gladdened the eye of man. There were balls, 
parties and dinner dances, ashore and aboard, and caiques 
hanging around those big ships regardless of the treacher- 
ous current. 

Late In the evening of the day I visited Sellmleh Barracks, 
I joined a party going out to the Rotterdam, where a 
dance was In full swing. The girls from home were lovely 
In their dainty evening dresses, silk stockings and American 
shoes, and their hearts seemed as light as their feet. Some 
of the older folks were dancing, too, tripping the light 
fantastic fairly well considering their years. But most of 
them were loafing on deck and talking about the wonders 
they had seen during the day. They had seen the mosques, 
palaces, museums, the Whirling Dervishes, and the place 
where the Sultan went to prayer; they had visited the 
bazaars, glanced Into the Sublime Porte, touched jeweled 
scimitars with their own hands, and sipped Turkish coffee 
out of small cups served by a tall, black eunuch, in a Prince 
Albert coat. 

But, among the things they had not seen or heard about 
were the Yedi Koule Hospital, and the Sellmleh Barracks 
In plain view by daylight from the deck of the Rotterdam 
and other vessels lying In the stream between Stamboul and 
Scutari. They did not know that behind the stone walls 
of that enormous old building on the Asiatic side of the 
City of two continents, 10,000 human beings, mostly women 



and children, were suffering the tortures of the damned. 
But those wretched people knew about the visitors from 
America. They saw the big ships during the day tended 
by hundreds of caiques, and after dark they heard the 
mocking music from the brilliantly lighted decks, where 
thousands of God’s favored people danced the hours away. 
They, too, had their part in these festivities. In the dead 
of the night, when Death came reaping along the corridors 
of their prison house, he came on the orchestral waves of 
these liners from New York, and frequently to the rollick- 
ing tune of “Yes ! We have no bananas, we have no bananas 







T he exodus of the Christian population from Turkey 
constitutes the greatest migration in the history of 
mankind. On this the world agrees. It was also the most 
unnatural migration that has ever occurred. These people 
were not nomads. They were home people. Their ancestral 
homes had been in Asia Minor for centuries before Paul and 
John went among them as missionaries and started the 
trouble which ended in their being driven out of the country. 
It was Paul and John, and Jesus, Himself, who made the 
trouble, not the modern missionaries, as is all too fre- 
quently asserted. 

The Christian exodus was an exodus of the weak. 
There was no Moses to divide the waters and save them 
from their enemies — no pillar of cloud to lead them by day, 
or pillar of fire to guide them by night. They were not led 
by their strong men. Their strong men had been “deported 
to the Interior.” After ages of occupation, this people was 
suddenly uprooted from the fertile soil of Anatolia and cast 
upon the barren islands and shores of Greece. 

The outstanding phase of the colossal task of replanting 
a nation within a nation, was the part taken by women. It 
was a case of dig in or die. The majority of the able-bodied 
adults among the refugees w’ere women, the mothers of 




little children, and the mothers of children cannot give up 
the ghost and die. With the selfless spirit of race-preserva- 
tion they cling to life, and many a woman who left Smyrna 
with soft hands and tender feet was growing stronger in 
the struggle for survival. 

Women who had been cared for and protected all their 
lives were suddenly called upon to take up the burden of 
both father and mother to their families. With nothing but 
the bare earth upon which fate had thrown them and the 
free breath of life in their nostrils, they gathered their chil- 
dren around them and started to build from the ground up. 

Such a lesson! Over a million people thrown overboard 
economically, were sinking or coming to the surface in ac- 
cordance with their social qualities. The help of foreign 
relief associations and the element of luck (largely, health 
or disease) were strong influences in the new state of af- 
fairs, but the actual quality of individuals was, and is, the 
prime factor in the reestablishment of these people. Sur- 
vival was sometimes a thing of the spirt, and the will to 
live a determining cause. Under this terrible test, the 
strong physically, weakened and died, in many instances, 
and the weak grew strong and lived. 

The majority of the refugees were of good social quality. 
There were a great many expert workers among them, and 
this equipment for life was the salvation of their family 
groups. The unadaptable woman, accustomed to indulgence 
and self-appointed periods of Indisposition, was a nuisance 
until she learned to carry her own weight on the lowest 
possible economic plane in a new world. 

While the Inrush of refugees was at its height, a ship 
arrived at Piraeus and dumped three thousand ashore. 
Nobody knew what to do with them. It was merely a case 
of three thousand more of the same kind. There happened 
to be a piece of unoccupied ground between Phaleron and 
Athens, upon which they were told to camp. The soil was 
unproductive. That is why it w^as not in use. It was sterile 



but sticky, and mixed with chaff and droppings gleaned 
from the highway and country round about it made poor 

Winter was coming on. There was no time to lose. 
Primitive implements were secured, the ground dug up, 
bricks made and dried in the sun. Everybody worked, and 
within a few months there was a town, Dirgouti, built 
mostly by women and children. In addition to family huts 
there were shops, school barracks, and a building made of 
mud bricks, erected by the refugees for the American Wom- 
en’s Hospitals. This townsite was chosen by chance, and 
the wonderful ruin on the hill in the distance to which these 
busy builders raised their eyes from time to time, was the 
Acropolis — the greatest Inspiration of the builders of the 
world. The Parthenon, In its purity and beauty built of 
marble from the mountains, 2300 years ago, literally looks 
down upon this poor little town made of mud In the winter 
of 1922-23. 

Dirgouti was run on the lowest possible commercial scale. 
But after the manner of town dwellers, the residents pointed 
with pride to their civic achievements. When I was there in 
September, 1923, they showed me their streets, houses, 
school and our own hospital, which they had built of mud 
bricks. This hospital had two tent annexes to accommodate 
the overflow. 

A town government had already been established, and In 
spite of difficulties, it was functioning. Business was being 
conducted. There were miniature grocery stores with 
beans, wheat and rice for pilaff, strings of onions and other 
supplies; shoemakers were at work at benches in front of 
their huts, and their materials were scraps of leather from 
old shoes sent into Greece by the relief organizations of 
America and England. The people of this little town were 
all living below the hunger line, and the Mayor, Council 
and “Ways and Means Committee” were not overlooking 
any possibility of outside assistance. 



The American Women’s Hospital Compound was one 
of the first groups of buildings constructed by the Greek 
government at the refugee city of Kokinia, part of Pirasus, 
in 1923. Our hospital covers a block of perhaps two hun- 
dred feet square with a central court surrounded by pavil- 
ions. The town was well planned. Thousands of two- 
roomed refugee homes, wide streets and sanitary conveni- 
ences were provided for. On account of the digging and 
debris, it was difficult to reach the hospital. I shall always 
remember a street, where small trees had been set out, and 
away in the distance there was one in full bloom. In order 
to find out just what kind of flowers grew so quickly in such 
a place, I walked through that street. The bright scarlet 
blossoms were made of paper, and evidently replaced from 
time to time to keep them fresh, but the poor little tree 
looked as though it was going to die for lack of water. 

Water! Water I That was the cry of the refugees every- 
where. They came from a land with plenty of water, but 
Greece is always in a state of drought. In Kokinia and 
other refugee towns there was no water supply. All the 
water was brought in water wagons and had to be bought 
by the bucket and paid for — still the people appeared neat 
and clean. 

While most of the outcasts were billeted in one way or 
another upon established communities, these special refugee 
centers, poverty-stricken “boom” towns, sprang up like toad- 
stools in different parts of Greece and ran on an inconceiv- 
ably low financial plane. By the autumn of 1924 there were 
60,000 refugees in Kokinia. The community was organiz- 
ing for social life, with shops, workrooms developing into 
small factories, and other industries conducted by refugees 
who were doing an active business on what might be called 
a penny basis, with every penny, or rather lepta, circulating 
at the highest possible speed. 

The looms appearing in the huts and rookeries of refu- 
gees were a hopeful indication in the midst of misery, the 

Women Builders 

This little church on the Marathon Road was built by women and children from a refugee camp nearby. 

J)r. Sara E. Foulks, Medical Director American Women’s Hospitals, Greece, 


View of Kokinia Refusee Settlement from the entrance to the A. W. H. 
compound. Seventy thousand refugees live in this town. 


Mud schoolhouse with a canvas roof for refugee children, Dirgouti, Greece. 

Patients waiting for treatment at the I.ipasma Hospital Clinic, 



forerunner of looms on a larger scale in the factories of the 
future. At one place, where we peered into a mud hut, the 
woman and her three children, who had built the hut, were 
working on a beautiful “Smyrna rug.” Her family had 
been expert rug makers in Smyrna, but they had lost every- 
thing, she said. This was not exactly true. They had lost 
their homes, fortunes and supply of rugs, but they had 
saved the cunning patterns in their brains and trained fin- 
gers, without which the looms and plants left behind were 
worthless. The industries of Turkey, which had been con- 
ducted by the Christian population, were incidentally trans- 
ferred to Greece. The outcasts left their buildings, flocks 
and herds in Asia Minor, but the goose that laid the golden 
egg, sadly in need of fat and feathers, swam across the 
iEgean Sea with them. 

Nations are usually willing to allow strangers to come 
In and redeem waste lands in malarial districts at the ex- 
pense of their spleens and red blood corpuscles, but the 
new people In Greece quickly infiltrated every industry and 
soon became a competitive force to be reckoned with. 
Before they were through the quarantine station, some of 
them began buying and selling on a low scale, and within 
two years they were operating on the Bourse as well as 
cleaning the streets. 

With the help of their children, women went Into business 
in a primitive way, saving rent and increasing trade by dis- 
playing their goods on pushcarts and soliciting patronage 
along the streets. Greece is a grape-producing country and 
wine-making a family industry. During the late summer 
months refugees were to be seen at times along the high- 
ways, between the miles of vineyards, buying grapes, which 
were thrown into grooved carts drawn by donkeys and 
trodden as they moved along. The children, with or with- 
out scabies, seemed to enjoy this work. Their feet and legs 
were wet with wine as they ran along the roads jumping 
in and out of these portable presses with buckets hanging 



along the rear to catch the precious vintage. Some of the 
finer brands of delicate bouquet, so prized by connoisseurs, 
are made In this good old-fashioned way. The flavor of 
machine-pressed wine Is injured by the crushing of the grape 

The Islands of MItylene and Chios, only a few miles from 
Smyrna, were the first dumping grounds for refugee ships. 
Our personnel met the outcasts when they reached these 
islands, and also at Macronissi, PIrsus and Salonica, mov- 
ing from these ports with them to Athens, Crete, Xanthi, 
Prosochani, Djuma, Tchaldjilar, Grevena and other dis- 
tricts. We dug In with them at DIrgouti, Kokinia and 

When I visited Salonica in April, 1923, a stream of refu- 
gees was pouring through that port and seeking places of 
permanent residence all over Macedonia. Approximately 
four hundred thousand had already been received. The 
work of the American Women’s Hospitals in that district 
was under the direction of Dr. Ruth Parmelee. Our grounds 
and buildings were loaned to us by a religious association 
connected with the Greek Orthodox Church. There was a 
hospital of a hundred beds with provision for overflow, 
clinics, dispensaries, out-patient service and a nurses’ train- 
ing class. In September, 1923, the Governor-General of 
Macedonia sent the following cable to the American Wom- 
en’s Hospitals: 

Thousands additional refugees landing — Health Department 
unable meet desperate medical sanitary situation — beg American 
Women’s Hospitals enlarge clinical hospital facilities to de- 
crease high death rate. Lambros. 

Dr. Parmelee was one of the deportees. Her parents 
had been missionaries in Turkey, where she was born and 
had spent most of her life. She was sent to America to 
college, returned as a medical missionary, and had served 
several years before the Greco-Turkish War. Deported 



from Turkey on account of her sympathies, she was placed 
at the head of the American Women’s Hospitals at Salon- 
ica, and did an enormous work caring for the sick, many of 
whom were from the districts where her family had lived 
and worked for forty years. 

The Salonica Hospital was a refuge for expectant moth- 
ers without so much as a manger at the time of their con- 
finements. During the first few months over five hundred 
babies were born there. This place was a center to which 
thousands of the sick from refugee camps came for help. 
In addition to the general hospital, with its crowded chil- 
dren’s ward, a daily clinic and dispensary were conducted. 

Dr. Parmelee knows the Near East, its people and lan- 
guages. She realized in the beginning that it would take 
years, a generation at least, for refugees, moving from a 
large fertile country to a smaller, less productive one han- 
dicapped with malignant malaria, to become established. 
A training class for nurses was started at the Salonica 
Hospital in January, 1923, which, as the months and years 
have passed, has supplied well-trained nurses for our refu- 
gee hospitals in other parts of Macedonia. 

The following letter was received from the Greek Min- 
ister of Hygiene and Public Assistance at the end of our 
first six months of service: 

Ministry of Hygiene and Public Assistance, 
Ministers Bureau, 

March gth, 1923. 

Executive Board, 

American Women’s Hospitals, 

New York. 

Honorable Ladies: 

I have the honor to express to you by this letter the gratitude 
of the Greek Government and the Greek Nation as well as the 
thanks of more than a million refugees for your admirable 
effort in medical and hospital work in favor of those suffering 
crowds driven away from their homes. 

Your organization, represented in Greece by Dr, Esther 


Lx)vejoy and Dr. Mabel Elliott, has really been at the height 
of a very difficult situation. The great help which you offer 
to the Greek Nation in this critical period, when we had to 
accept into our country hundreds of thousands of unhappy 
refugees driven away from their homes by the Turks, will 
remain for ever engraved in the heart of us all. Your country 
has shown by such actions as that of your organization a won- 
derful spirit of International solidarity which wdll remain as 
an example to the civilized world. The action of the American 
Women’s Hospitals has also proved what splendid results can 
achieve a woman’s organization when it is inspired by high 
philanthropic feelings. 

Greece owes a debt of gratitude to the American Women’s 
Hospitals who crossed the ocean to put the spirit of method and 
organization as well as the generous heart of the great American 
women at the service of more than a million distressed refugees. 

With the assurance of my profound respect, I am. 

Very sincerely yours, 

(signed) D. Doxiades, 







L ausanne was heavenly after the hell of Smyrna, Scu- 
tari, Macronissi, Salonica and other refugee centers. 
The Peace Conference was in session at Ouchy, on the lake- 
side. The grounds of the great hotels nearby seemed like 
the wildwoods of Elysium, with spreading trees, shrubs of 
exquisite foliage, fragrance of mignonette, faint music of 
stringed instruments and stately swans moving upon a crys- 
tal lake. 

The subtle influence of this earthly paradise would surely 
facilitate peace parleys. The conferences were held behind 
closed doors, but I met some of the American observers 
and delegates from other countries, including M. Venizelos. 
The “Convention Concerning the Exchange of Greek and 
Turkish Populations” had already been arranged, but noth- 
ing could be done under its provisions until the Treaty of 
Peace was signed. 

In the interest of historical truth, the exodus of the 
Christian people from Turkey should not be confused with 
what is known as the “Exchange of Populations.” This 
was a plan of adjustment arranged at Lausanne afterward 
to mitigate the distressing conditions in Greece and Turkey, 




resulting from the enormous dislocation of population. With 
the exception of the men of military age, who had been 
“detained” in Anatolia by the Turkish Command, the ex- 
pulsion of the Christian minorities from Turkey was prac- 
tically accomplished months before the machinery for the 
“compulsory exchange” was put into action. 

Greece was swamped with refugees and in need of space 
— besides, she was anxious to get the surviving young men 
belonging to the refugee families, who were still “detained” 
in Anatolia. Turkey was depopulated and in need of peo- 
ple. The land had been left tenantless by the flight of the 
Christian population following the holocaust at Smyrna and 
the Conference at Mudania in the early part of October, 
1922, at which time the determination of the new Turkish 
government to be rid of the troublesome Christian minori- 
ties was given world-wide publicity. 

The desperate needs of both countries resulting from 
this unprecedented exodus brought about the “Convention 
Concerning the Exchange of Greek and Turkish Popula- 
tions,” which was signed at Lausanne on January 30, 1923. 
This “exchange” was to begin on May i, but the Treaty of 
Peace was not signed until July 24, 1923, and the plan was 
not in operation much before the beginning of 1924. The 
American Red Cross did an enormous work feeding the 
outcasts from Anatolia during the maximum stage of the 
refugee emergency, and that organization withdrew from 
the field on June 30, 1923, at which date the American 
Women’s Hospitals closed Macronissi Island Quarantine 
Station, for the reason that the Influx was practically over. 

The “Convention Concerning the Exchange of Greek and 
Turkish Populations” covers a multitude of sins. This 
misleading Instrument has been used extensively, even in 
churches, to smooth over the tragic end of the Christian 
minorities in Turkey, and make it appear that a peaceful 
exchange of populations has been effected. Here are a few 
of the provisions of this portentous document: 



Article I 

As from the ist May, 1923, there shall take place a compul- 
sory exchange of Turkish nationals of the Greek Orthodox reli- 
gion established in Turkish territory, and of Greek nationals 
of the Moslem religion established in Greek territory. 

These persons shall not return to live in Turkey or Greece, 
respectively, without the authorization of the Turkish Govern- 
ment or of the Greek Government, respectively. 

Article 3 

Those Greeks and Moslems who have already, and since 
the 1 8th of October, 1912, left the territories the Greek and 
Turkish inhabitants of which are to be respectively exchanged, 
shall be considered as included in the exchange provided for in 
Article I. 

Article 4 

All able-bodied men belonging to the Greek population whose 
families have already left Turkish territory, and who are now 
detained in Turkey, shall constitute the first installment of 
Greeks sent to Greece in accordance with the present Conven- 

Article 7 

The emigrants as have already left one or other of the two 
countries and have not yet acquired their new nationality, shall 
acquire that nationality on the date of the signature of the present 

To a reader unacquainted with the facts, these articles 
would indicate that a peaceful exchange had been effected. 
Article 4 was easy to write In Lausanne, but putting It in 
practice in Turkey was quite another matter. Article 3 pro- 
vides that the Greeks and Moslems who have already left 
the territories affected by the exchange shall be considered 
as Included in the first article of the convention. These 
few mild words disposed of the Christian minorities 
(17500,000) who fled from Turkey after the burning of 
Smyrna. One step farther in that direction and this article 
might have been provided that those who died (estimated 
at about 300,000) should be considered alive and well. 

28 o 


The benign tone of this instrument in view of what it 
covers, Is an astounding achievement. The only fault to be 
found with the retroactive provisions for the liquidation of 
immovable property and the reimbursement of refugees for 
losses sustained, is that the plan doesn’t work. More peo- 
ple were affected by this “exchange” than the combined 
populations of Oregon, Idaho and Montana. The Turkish 
nationals belonging to the Orthodox Church were frequently 
referred to as “Unredeemed Greeks.” About 1,500,000 of 
these people, who fled from Turkey, were “redeemed” and 
became citizens of Greece, without their knowledge or con- 
sent, on the signing of the Treaty of Lausanne. 

This “compulsory exchange” of populations based on 
religion, is a startling precedent In international procedure. 
A great many people, not personally affected, are enthusi- 
astic over the outlook for both Greece and Turkey with 
“homogeneous” populations, which make for the peace of 
the world. Time will prove the value of the plan, and If 
It works well, perhaps it can be applied to other countries 
with unassimllable populations and incompatible religions. 

Approximately 450,000 Mohammedans were evicted 
from Greece under the terms of the “Convention Concern- 
ing the Exchange of Greek and Turkish Populations.” Many 
of these people were loath to quit their native country, with 
the mother tongue, the land of their forefathers. It was 
hard to leave their homes, where they had lived all their 
lives with friendly Christian neighbors, and go to a strange 
place where they would be obliged to make new connections 
and learn another language In their declining years. How- 
ever, the lure of a fertile country mitigated the hardship 
somewhat. “A Land Flowing with Milk and Honey” never 
fails to catch the imagination of man — besides, was it not 
written in the “Convention” that they should not lose by 
the “Exchange”? Turkey is a fertile country, with great 
natural resources, five times larger than Greece, and has a 
smaller population. Therefore, with fair treatment, the 


IHIS Is How It seemed at Lausanne. 

This Is EIow It W.AS in Every Part of Greece. 



Detail of the Bread Line on the A. W. H. Quarantine \sland. 

_ _ A New Curve in the “Golden Horseshoe.” 

Refugee families billeted in the boxes of the Grand Opera House, Athens. 


Moslem people moving from Greece were bound to be bene- 
fited in the end. 

Reports to the effect that the “Exchange” would begin 
on May i, 1923, resulted in large agricultural losses in 
Greece, for the reason that the Moslem population did not 
cultivate their fields with the usual care that year. Valuable 
property had been abandoned in Turkey by the Christian 
refugees, and many of the Mohammedans in Greece affected 
by the “Exchange,” after liquidating their holdings as far 
as was possible, moved to Salonica or other ports in order 
to catch the first ships and stake the first claims in the prom- 
ised land. Thousands of them were ready and waiting by 
April, 1923, and under the aegis of the Mixed Commission, 
appointed to facilitate the “Exchange,” the movement of 
the Moslem people from Greece into Turkey began the 
following November and finished about a year later. 

Basking on the shore of Lake Geneva, under the budding 
trees, on May i, 1923, the very day nominated in the bond 
for the “Exchange of Populations” to begin, the mild- 
reading provisions of this “Convention” suggested a pleas- 
ant excursion from Ouchy to Montreux on the passing 
steamers. The day was delightful. Swans were gliding 
over the water, doves cooing on the greensward, birds twit- 
tering overhead, and it was hard to realize what the “Ex- 
change of Populations” really meant. 

Better a day on Lake Geneva than a cycle at the haunts 
of misery, where some of my associates in the service of 
the American Women’s Hospitals were stationed. Lau- 
sanne was a haven of rest and delight. Such a temptation ! 
Under the circumstances, lusting after the place was an evil 
to be resisted. My begging ground was in the United 
States, and it was necessary to move fast in order to cover 
my Eastern schedule and reach San Francisco in time for 
the meeting of the Medical Women’s National Association. 
By cutting my Lausanne visit to one day, I could run over to 
Prague, complete my business there, catch the Berengaria 



at Cherbourg, and loaf and indulge my soul by dreaming 
of Lake Geneva during the voyage across the ocean. 

It was easy to get into Prague, but hard to get out. An 
international conference was in session, and all outbound 
sleeping compartments engaged for a week in advance. It 
was a case of sitting up for over thirty hours or flying to 
Paris, and I was glad of an excuse to fly. 

Away we sailed over the city of Prague, and the fields, 
hills, dales, forests, mountains, lakes and rivers of the 
country beyond. Springtime ! The morning sun was flood- 
ing the earth, awakening life in the seeded fields and wild 
places under our eyes. The prevailing colors were green 
and brown, plowed land, pastures, the dark expanse of 
the Bohmer Wald, and the red-roofed cities, towns and vil- 
lages — Nuremberg, Stuttgart and many others, all of 
which, even the largest, seemed like small red flower beds 
on the great brown and green plain of the world. 

Strassburg, on the Rhine, where we came down for a 
change of planes and pilots, is an impressive city from above 
on account of its highways and waterways. My first impres- 
sion on landing was that the Gold Dust twins had preceded 
me, and my second thought was that most of the cities of 
the world would be benefited by a thorough cleaning under 
the direction of the force which had done so much for 
Strassburg. If order is heaven’s first law, and cleanliness 
is next to Godliness, Strassburg was nothing less than heav- 

With a new plane and pilot, we arose spirally out of 
Strassburg an hour later and turned toward Paris. There 
was something vital the matter with that machine. I have 
no knowledge whatever of man-made motors, but I had 
studied the functional action of the heart, the best machine 
ever made, and I knew that there was something wrong 
with the heart of that airplane. Its pulse seemed labored, 
tense and irregular from the beginning, strongly indicating 
the immediate need of a hypodermic stimulant. When we 



were up about five or ten thousand feet, the heart of the 
thing stopped beating altogether and, guided by the hand 
of the pilot, it began circling earthward, grazed the red top 
of a house and landed in the field from which we started. 

The passengers breathed a sigh of relief. Our lives were 
saved. After a careful examination, it was announced that 
the plane needed repairing and would not be ready for 
some time. 

“Same plane?” I inquired solicitously. 

“Oui,” answered the man in charge. 

“No, thank you!!!” 

Accompanied by a fellow-passenger, who was also a 
fellow-countryman, I took the next train to Paris, and when 
that plane went up the second time it fell and killed every- 
body aboard. 

Having escaped with our lives, we rejoiced exceedingly, 
and both claimed exclusive credit for knowing when to quit. 
The gentleman’s clothes were checkered and pronouncedly 
English in more than one way, but his head tones were 
homey and comforting in time of trouble. According to 
his card, he hailed from Burma. 

“Burma?” I questioned, involuntarily, “you didn’t get 
that tone of voice in Burma.” 

“No,” said he, “I got it in Oregon. I used to run a goat 
farm down in Douglas County, near Drain.” — ^And our 
mutual adventures in the unprofitable business of goat farm- 
ing in Douglas County Immediately took precedence of our 
thrilling air glide over Strassburg as a subject of conver- 

The Berengaria, minimum rate first class, was sold out. 
Accommodation was available from three hundred dollars 
up, first class, or second class. Inside room with another 

“How about third class?” I inquired. Fair sailing fol- 
lowed this question. 

“You can have an outside room alone for eighty-five 



dollars,” answered the third-class agent cordially, “with the 
privilege of attending religious services in the first class 
saloon on Saturdays or Sundays.” 

My bargain counter instincts were aroused. I doubted 
the quality of the goods. There was a trick in the deal 

“Show me the steerage,” I countered casually, after the 
manner of a lawyer who once examined me on the witness 
stand and asked seemingly irrelevant questions carefully 
calculated to elicit the truth. 

“This is the steerage,” admitted the salesman with a 
caught-in-the-act expression, “but we call it third-class on 
account of the feelings of passengers.” 

The psychology of selling tickets was involved in this 
remark. The population of our country is based upon 
“steerage.” It is a hateful word, and the nearer we stand 
to it lineally, the worse it seems. In a revulsion of feeling, 
I was almost stampeded into paying over two hundred 
dollars for the use of the compound word “first-class” for 
six days. Fortunately, I analyzed this impulse and found 
that it was due to an inferiority complex in time to save 
the money. 

Many a time and oft I had crossed the ocean as a first- 
class passenger, but never had I received such service. Wires 
were sent and letters written to the steamship representative 
at Cherbourg, to Insure my every comfort. When I arrived 
at the station, an agent was waiting to receive me. This 
gentleman looked after the details connected with embarka- 
tion and personally conducted me aboard the ship, while 
the first and second-class passengers stood in line waiting to 
attend to their own baggage and passports. 

Innocent of information regarding the effect of recent 
immigration laws on third-class travel, I was amazed and 
delighted. These unexpected courtesies were accepted as 
personal tributes. Later I learned that it was merely a 


case of supply and demand. The first and second-class sec- 
tions of the ship were overcrowded, but in the third-class 
they were glad to get a passenger, I had a comfortable 
outside stateroom, which had formerly accommodated at 
least four persons on west-bound trips. 

When the immigration law limiting the quota of immi- 
grants went into effect, “third” became a liability, a byword 
and a hissing at the meetings of the stockholders of the great 
liners. All the members of the staff employed to serve that 
unremunerative class were anxious about their jobs, and on 
learning that I had voluntarily chosen “third,” their grati- 
tude was boundless, bountiful, and expressed in tit-bits 
which must have been cribbed from the diet kitchen main- 
tained for affluent invalids. 

That trip was a success in several respects. My con- 
science was comforted when I thought of Dr. Parmelee 
with her refugees in Salonica, and Dr. Stasny in that pest- 
hole on Macronissi Island. I was also mindful of the dis- 
couraging effect of inexpensive travel upon the few persons 
in our service, unashamed of extravagant expense accounts. 
My baggage was passed without inspection, on the assump- 
tion, perhaps, that a third-class passenger could not possibly 
have any loot. 

But the great reward was yet to come. Speaking at a 
meeting in Brooklyn, a few days later, about the work of the 
American V/omen’s Hospitals for the mitigation of suffer- 
ing among refugees, I mentioned the trip across the ocean. 
A newspaper woman came in hot haste for the story of that 
“steerage” trip. She was so insistent on a tale of martyr- 
dom that in self-defense I made the best of a pleasant ex- 
perience. Her story, with a flattering photograph, got a 
prominent place, and the next day it appeared as telegraphic 
news in many parts of the United States. Economy is 
appreciated by contributors. Kindly letters and generous 
checks flowed into our little headquarters for weeks. That 


“steerage” trip was worth thousands of dollars to the 
American Women s Hospitals, and there is a twinge of cha- 
grin in the reflection that its greatest possibility did not 
occur to me in advance. This was a Simon-pure stroke of 
luck ! 






T he American Women’s Hospitals conducted a medical 
relief service in Russia in cooperation with the Ameri- 
can Friends Service Committee from 1922 to 1926. Dr. 
Lucy MacMillan Elliott of Flint, Michigan, was at the head 
of this work in the beginning, but owing to ill health she 
was obliged to return to the United States. She was replaced 
by Dr. Elfie Richards Graff, assisted by Dr. Katherine Dodd 
and Miss Mabelle Phillips of Plainfield, New Jersey. 

For four years. Dr. Graff and Miss Phillips had worked 
together in Constantinople and the Caucasus. They were 
natural born pioneers and seasoned workers with no white 
feathers in their crests. The famine districts of Russia 
“called” them insistently. Typhus, smallpox, cholera and 
cannibalism on a large scale had been reported and they 
were “dying” to get into the country. 

Dr. Elliott’s illness was their opportunity. They were 
sent to Sorochinskoe, Buzuluk district. Province of Samara, 
the worse place on the famine map. At the time of my 
vfsit in October, 1923, they were all smiles but a little hard 
to understand. In less than one year they had seemingly 
forgotten all about dollars, bushels, districts, boards and 




committees, and were talking quite naturally about cher- 
vonets, poods, uzdravs, ooyezds and narkomzdravs. 

Buzuluk and Sorochinskoe have a far-away sound, but the 
people who live there are not nearly so “foreign” In appear- 
ance and spirit, as our neighbors in Mexico and some of 
our neighbors In New York City. Perhaps we all wandered 
together in the wilderness of Asiatic Russia a long time 
ago, and our Immediate forebears migrated to the countries 
of western Europe and theirs remained in the East. It takes 
three days on the International Train from Moscow to 
reach these districts lying one day’s travel beyond the Volga 
River, whence come the Volga songs and Russian caviare. 

With the exception of a narrow strip on the western 
border, the Baku Oil Fields on the Caspian Sea, and 
Vladovostock on the eastern coast, Russia is an undiscov- 
ered country of enormous extent stretching across Europe 
and Asia from salt water on the Atlantic side to salt water 
on the Pacific side. There are all kinds and shades of peo- 
ple within its borders, 130,000,000 of them, just awakening 
to the possibilities of life, and wealth beyond dreams of 
avarice waiting to be released. 

The rich steppes of Russia cultivated in the most primi- 
tive manner provided the barbaric splendor and extrava- 
gance of ante-revolutionary generations. The ruling classes 
enslaved the peasants, but they did not rob their national 
banks — they did not exploit the natural resources of the 
country and waste its substance, because they did not know 
how. Therefore, the future generations of Russians have 
these resources to draw upon. The chances are that they 
will have oil to burn within their own borders, when the 
present masters, lords and rulers of the earth are scurrying 
around the world looking for new energy to drive their 

Fortunately, we had oil from Baku to burn, for our 
clinics were conducted at widely separated villages, which 
we visited by automobile. Along the way there were great 

On the Steppe. 

Dr. Elfie Richards Graff and Miss Mabelle Phillips, of the American 
Women’s Hospitals, in the Wellesley Camion near Buzuluk, Russia, 1923. 
{Inset) Dr. Lebedeva, head of the Department for the Protection of Mother- 
hood and Childhood for all the Russias. 

Some of Their Patients. 

Family of Russian peasants, famine district, Buzuluk, Russia. 


ft St# 


^ a^fa^ 

Japanese women physicians in the service of the American Women’s 
Hospitals, Tokio, Japan. 



patches of wild mushrooms. Boxes, buckets and pans were 
filled in short order, and the next morning when we passed 
the same places, there the mushrooms were again, like 
manna falling or rising over night. 

The wolves and jackals of the Russian steppes have 
scented and followed travelers, with or without horses, 
until it has become a habit with them. They don’t under- 
stand the smell of the Ford, but they follow it betimes 
instinctively until their tongues hang out from exhaustion. 
After dark in the evening, we sometimes had canine travel- 
ing companions, their glowing eyes appearing and disap- 
pearing in the low growth at the side of the road. 

Dr. Graff had a staff of Russian physicians, felchers 
(medical students) and nurses, and worked under the 
authority of the Moscow Health Bureau in close association 
with Dr. Lebedeva, the woman physician at the head of 
the Department for the Protection of Motherhood and 
Childhood. The following data is taken from the 1924-25 
report of Dr. Graff and Miss Phillips: 

1. There are 25 Malaria Clinics caring for 3033 people. Dur- 
ing April, 1924, 16,348 patients were treated. 

2. In the clinics for the protection of motherhood and childhood, 
200 expectant mothers and 1363 children were under super- 

3. Thirteen centers for mothers and children registered 10,383 
examinations. 25,226 people called at these centers for help 
and 195 clinics were conducted. All personnel connected 
with the medical service, both American and Russian, are 
on the payroll of the American Women’s Hospitals.” 

My visit in Russia was cut short by an emergency call 
from another field. The weekly International Train had 
just passed, but I caught the “Maxim Gorki” which took 
four days and nights to Moscow, and tried out Communism 
on a small and intimate scale en route. The sleeping car 
was full, save one compartment for four persons. There 


was a reason why this compartment was empty, which I did 
not recognize at once. The window, when open, glided 
downward behind the woodwork out of sight. The glass of 
this window had been broken out, thin boards nailed on the 
frame, and when the window was closed, the compartment 
was in utter darkness. 

Naturally, I thanked my lucky stars, and set my compart- 
ment in order, depending upon the fresh breeze from the 
steppe to maintain special privilege and privacy. A draft 
in Russia is nothing less than a national abomination, and 
nobody came into that compartment until every other place 
was taken. Then two men came and took the bunks, one 
above the other on the opposite side of the coop. There 
were no real seats in the sleeping car. The passengers sat 
on these stationary bunks, upper or lower, which were sold 
as “soft seats” or “hard seats” according to whether they 
were bare boards or cushioned. The newcomers promptly 
closed the window shutting out the breeze, light and land- 
scape. I needed air and wanted to see the country, so I 
opened the window after a few minutes, and this was the 
beginning of a game of opening and closing that window, 
carried on politely with many smiles and bows for about 
four hours, when petty capitalism won. 

It was time to eat. Those men looked famished. They 
had tea and black bread without butter — no wonder they 
shivered, while I had a basketful of chicken, cheese and 
other luxuries. Foreign plutocrats naturally traveled on 
the International Train and my companions had been unable 
to place me up to that moment. By my food they knew 
me. I was the kind of a person they most despised. The 
gross abundance revealed when I raised the lid of that 
basket was bad form in Russia, and very embarrassing in 
the presence of malnutrition. Scorn and covetousness 
struggled in their hungry eyes, but they declined to accept 
favors from the enemy. They spoke together in a low 
tone, conspired against me, and went on a hunger strike. 



In vain I passed the tempting basket. There they sat 
with their mouths watering, resolutely sticking to their 
standard, while coveting my chicken and breaking the Tenth 
Commandment. Something had to be done. With the 
ignominious cunning of a strike breaker, I sized up the 
situation. I could not speak a word of Russian, but I was 
not without a smattering of the histrionic art. By register- 
ing deep distress, I finally made them understand that I 
was dying of thirst and desperately In need of some of their 
tea. Ah, that was different. They had failed In hospitality 
to a stranger In their midst. They would make amends. I 
should have fresh tea. And they rushed out at the station, 
where samovars of hot water are always kept for the con- 
venience of travelers, and came back with their pot of 
steaming tea. 

From that moment the government of our compartment 
was communistic. We ate everything in my basket within 
a few hours, and at each station my comrades hustled for 
food, the best available In Russia, and I paid for It. In 
addition to this service, they left the window open, and 
furnished tea, hot and fresh, for every meal. 

When I took my after dinner quinine, they held out their 
hands and I noticed for the first time that one of them 
needed it a great deal worse than I did, so I divided my 
supply between them, keeping just enough to last me to 
Moscow, where I could get more and they could not because 
of the price. Malaria was a new bond between us. They 
were good comrades and added enormously to the pleasure 
and educational value of that trip. We understood one 
another’s sign language and entered Into an uncommunistic 
conspiracy to keep the window open and discourage newcom- 
ers In order that we might avoid sharing the advantages of 
that compartment with the traveling public. 

This scheme of life was too good to last. During the 
dark hours of the second night, our lodge was invaded by 
two persons and there they were in the morning on the bunk 



above my head. They must have closed the window when 
they came in. When I opened it at the break of day, they 
lifted their heads simultaneously at the opposite ends of 
the bunk, sat up, and hung their feet over the edge. From 
that time on whenever they were awake their feet were 
dangling down by my face — the hairy man’s on one side, 
and his mate’s on the other. He had evidently been in the 
habit of hibernating on the top of the oven during the 
winter months. Naturally, he insisted upon keeping the 
window closed, but when I tapped upon his boots and 
turned my face away in deep distress, he smiled compre- 
hensively, took off his boots and hung his bare feet down 

Our party was ruined. The communistic, give and take, 
scheme of life in that compartment did not work with “Ivan 
the Terrible.’’ He shared our chicken, but Bruin himself 
could not have been more averse to letting light and air into 
his den. “Ivan’’ had a well shaped head and a benign 
expression of countenance, but his feet were hopelessly pro- 
leterian. Both he and his spouse were overweight. They 
had evidently been hoarding and eating on the sly during the 
famine years in spite of the Soviet. After thirty-one stifling 
hours of darkness, with brief respite now and then, they 
reached their destination, took their feet out of my face, 
bowed peasantly and departed. My comrades across the 
way had opened the window to capacity and we all drew a 
deep breath and heaved a heartfelt sigh of relief. 

That was the most oppressive thirty-one hours of my life. 
The Cheka could not have been much worse. Sitting on the 
edge of my bunk, hour after hour, feet by jowl, finally 
affected my mind and I began to mumble broken snatches of 
The Man zeith the Hoe. 

What pulfs between him and the seraphim! 

. . . what to him 

Are Plato and the swing of Pleiades? 

The rift of dawn, the reddening of the rose? 



But this poem did not exactly fit the case of “Ivan the 
Terrible.” Staring into the darkness of that compartment, 
and holding tight to my handbag, he appeared to me in a 
vision over and over again, but not with a hoe — that 
delightful implement of recreation. As I visualized “Ivan” 
he was always yoked with a water-buffalo pulling a plow. 
He was the product of generations of darkest Russia. His 
father had probably been a serf, and under the old regime 
he, himself, as securely bound to the land as the other farm 
animals. Why was he so far from home? Where was he 
going? He was not quite sure of the way. As he crossed 
the station square, he paused, lifted his head and gazed 
around. A gleam of light and color touched the sky — • 
“the rift of dawn” in Russia. 

That journey from Buzuluk to Moscow was rich in orig- 
inal experiences and thoroughly enjoyable except for “Ivan” 
and the nights. I am a slave to the habit of undressing for 
bed, and four nights in full dress was a hardship. I had 
been advised to keep my clothes on and watch my step while 
traveling on that train, and my comrades never left me 
to forage for food without pointing a warning finger at the 
bag where I kept the money to pay for our daily chicken. 
Before going to sleep I concealed my handbag on my per- 
son, put my suitcase under my head for a pillow, and fas- 
tened my shoes on my feet securely. This plan was far 
from comfortable, but I arrived at Moscow without loss, 
while a trustful Quaker from another car reached head- 
quarters in his bare feet, sans garments save a blanket and 
a thin pair of B.V.D’s, with his faith in mankind unshaken. 

The details of that trip grow brighter and better in 
memory as the months go by, especially when compared 
with the tiresome journey from the Russian border to War- 
saw on the luxurious International Train, a few days later. 
The weak sister who occupied the other sleeper in the 
coupe to which I was assigned, was addicted to strong 
drink. He was a convivial soul. Every time he took a 



drink, he offered me one, and between drinks he counted 
the pink rats, in German, running around the compartment 
which were wholly invisible to me: “eln, zwei, drei” — don- 
nerwetter! It seemed like old times in the ward for alco- 
holic mania. There was no other space in the car, so I 
stayed awake and served as special nurse to this wayfarer 
on the borderland of delirium tremens. 






I N September, 1924, Dr. Parmelee and I visited the refu- 
gee camps of Salonica and the American Women’s Hos- 
pitals’ stations in other parts of Macedonia and Thrace. 
Thousands of Moslem people were still waiting to be 
transferred to Turkey and the last of the Christian refu- 
gees from that country, the few who had lingered in their 
Anatolian homes because of favorable local conditions, 
were coming through the quarantine station at Salonica, on 
their way to the interior of Macedonia. These people, 
mostly women and children, were carrying enormous loads 
on their backs and their chief reliance against further mis- 
fortune was some sort of talisman, probably a blue bead. 

We were conducting several hospitals and a large num- 
ber of clinics for the care of the sick among refugees in 
remote districts, where American travelers were rarely seen. 
Salonica is the outpost for most people visiting Macedonia, 
and even those who make “surveys” and write intimately 
about these out-of-the-way places, usually base their stories 
upon second hand information. After visiting our hospital 
at Prosochani, we drove along the Kavala Road to the 
Doxato clinic and Pravi Hospital, passing the ruins of 
Philippi, the old Macedonian city where Paul first preached 
the Christian religion in Europe, and was beaten. Impris- 
oned, and put in the stocks for his freedom of speech. 




When our work was discontinued on the Islands of Chios 
and Mitylene in the early part of 1924, Miss Emily Petty 
of Berwick, Pennsylvania, head of the Chios Hospital, 
shipped her equipment on a sailing vessel, a Levantine 
freighter, and followed her refugees to Thrace. At the 
request of the Government, she established our hospital at 
Xanthi with outlying clinics and child welfare service at 
Yenidje and other villages. 

Who ever heard of Xanthi and Yenidje? Darius, Phil- 
lip of Macedon, Alexander the Great, and all modern 
tobacco men. Yenidje was an ancient town when Xerxes 
invaded Greece. These places were forgotten for about 
two thousand years and rediscovered by the modern world 
after the introduction of tobacco from America into Euro- 
pean countries, including Macedonia. If pearls of great 
price were found occasionally on a remote reef in the Medi- 
terranean, all the jewelers in the world w'ould know about 
that reef. And all the well informed tobacco dealers In 
the world know about Xanthi, because In a limited district 
around about this old town, the sun casts an ardent glance 
upon a peculiar soil, and produces tobacco of great price. 
The Yenidje tobacco Is the very attar of roses, the choicest 
leaf that grows in the way of the noxious weed. 

The Xanthi tobacco crop Is secured by the great tobacco 
companies, sent to Egypt and other countries, where a 
flavoring of this precious foliage is mixed with the com- 
mon garden varieties, and used in the manufacture of the 
most expensive brands of “Turkish” and “Egyptian” cig- 
arettes. This fine leaf grows only in favored spots, but 
the country is covered with the ordinary weed. We were 
in Eastern Macedonia and Western Thrace during the 
harvest season, and wherever we went to visit sick refugees, 
many of whom were suffering from tuberculosis and mal- 
aria, we found their wretched hovels, sometimes in old 
khans, festooned with tobacco leaves strung on strings to 
season and develop the famous Yenidje flavor. 

Dr. Ruth Parmelee (American Board Foreign Missions) with a refugee 
mother and child. Dr. Parmelee was head of the A. W. H. service in the 
Salonika District from 1922 to 1925, when she was transferred to our 

Kokinia Hospital. 

Sister Sarra, a refugee from Harpoot, head nurse, maternity 
department, Salonika Hospital. 

Two lucky refugees — Xanthi Hospital, 

“1 W'as Sick and Ye Visited Me. ' 

Note the Yenitza tobacco drying on the wall 



Miss Edith Wood, R.N., assigned for 
service in Albania, 1927. 

Miss Emily Petty, R.N,, director A. W. H,, 
Xanthi Area, decorated by the Greek 


The great need of medical service in Macedonia during 
the winter of 1924-25 was indicated in the following cables 
sent to the united States from that country: 

There is much slow starvation. One cannot walk through the 
refugee camps without seeing hundreds, whose pale, pinched 
faces show lack of nourishment. Such as these are in physical 
condition to catch any form of disease. Cabled words cannot 
describe the real downright misery and terrible suffering that 
daily confronts those of us who are in the midst of it. 

Dana K. Getchell, 
Chairman, American Mission Relief. 

I would say that one-third are slowly starving. The relief need 
in Salonica and Macedonia is more urgent than I have ever seen 
before during my thirty years residence in the Near East. They 
are without adequate food, clothing, shelter or employment; 
are ansemic and easy prey to disease. 

George White, 

American Mission Board. 

Our personal inspection refugee situation reveals most distress- 
ing conditions. . . . Scores of thousands, mostly women and 
children, undernourished, malarial, living in indescribably 
crowded unsanitary barracks, hovels and shacks. Greatest need 
we have seen in any country since World War. 

Prof. Paul Monroe, 

Teachers College, Columbia University. 

Dr. R. R. Reeder, 

Director, Serbian Child Welfare Association. 

Similar cables testifying to suffering due to undernourish- 
ment and sickness were sent by Morganthau, Refugee Set- 
tlement Commission; Lambros, Governor-General ;Tve\o-SLV, 
League of Nations; Milward, Save the Children Fund; 
Oerts, Danish Industrial School; House, Thessalonika Insti- 
tute and by Dr. Ruth Parmelee, head of the American 
Women’s Hospitals, Salonica, Greece. 

At that time, ours was the only American organization 
conducting a general medical relief service and maintaining 
general hospitals for housing, feeding and caring for the 



sick among the refugees to which all of these cables referred. 
Specific reports were received month after month from our 
representatives In outlying districts: “Maternity cases are 
infrequent, fortunately, and the few babies born during the 
past six months have not lived long.” This came from 
Parga In January, 1925, where we were distributing food, 
and In November, 1925, the following was received from 
the physician at our hospital at Grevena: “No one knows 
how many are dying singly In these villages, but In one place 
named PInar eleven persons died lately from hunger and It 
was found upon Investigation that the whole village had 
been living for days on wild pears.” 

The Refugee Settlement Commission with over a million 
acres of land placed at Its disposal by the Greek Govern- 
ment, and a loan of ten million pounds (English) guaran- 
teed by Greek assets, began to work about the end of 1923, 
and has succeeded beyond all expectations In settling refu- 
gees In Macedonia. Thousands of families have been 
placed on sections of land; thousands of houses have been 
built, wells drilled and water secured for communities; 
thousands of acres of land have been plowed by tractors; 
seed and farm Implements have been distributed; vines 
Introduced from America; refugee towns have been built 
and Industries fostered, but It will take at least one genera- 
tion and the helping hand of Death to complete the task. 

Goats, sheep and donkeys have been supplied by the 
Commission to some of the refugee families on long period 
loans. These animals represent a small Investment and 
survive where cattle and horses starve and die. Ages 
of torture has manifestly Immunized the donkey against 
cruelty. Apparently, he has no sensory nervous system. 
Regardless of 111 treatment, he pursues the even tenor of his 
ways, and his agonizing, bronchocavernous heehaw seems 
like a habit left over from the ages when donkeys were sensi- 
ble to pain. Goats are animals with personality — dual per- 
sonality. They have a solemn cast of countenance, but the 

The Open Door. 

Entrance to A. W. H. compound, Djuma, Western Macedonia. 

nYahnnlTn ^^acedonia, crossing the 

plain in an uncovered wacon with a load of American old clothes for refugees, 

Malaria ! 

- The Macedonian cry at present is for help 
against the enemies of mankind — Malaria 
and Tuberculosis. 


tilt of their tails give a cheerful expression to the hard, 
unyielding face of the Macedonian landscape. They laugh 
at tuberculosis and other scourges, and temper their con- 
fidence in man with intelligent suspicion. All farm animals 
are milked, and the mixed flavor of Macedonian butter 
strongly indicates that sheep, donkeys, goats and water- 
buffalos have contributed to its production. 

Since the beginning of the Christian exodus from Tur- 
key, our organization has conducted 37 hospitals with 
outlying clinics in Greece and the Aiigean Islands. Much 
of the work has been done by refugee physicians and nurses, 
under American supervision. A great many well qualified 
medical men, who otherwise would have been in the bread 
line with their families, have been employed to care for the 
sick among their fellow-refugees. 

Dr. Sara E. Foulks, head of the American Women’s 
Hospitals at Corfu, was appointed medical director for 
Greece at the end of July, 1923, and served in that capacity 
until February, 1926. She was assisted by Mrs. Cruik- 
shank. Miss Frances MacQuaide, and a committee including 
Dr. Mary Kalopothakls, whose mother was an American, 
and who has practiced medicine in Athens for many years. 

Smallpox and typhus fever were terrible scourges during 
the height of the exodus, but drought and malaria are the 
greatest obstacles to the settlement of refugees in Mace- 
donia, and in other infected areas of Greece. Tons of 
quinine have been provided by the American Red Cross, 
and the Refugee Settlement Commission has done an enor- 
mous antimalarial work in spite of the difficulties peculiar 
to the country. Water is so precious. Every ditch is 
regarded as a blessing because it promises fertility, and a 
curse because it breeds mosquitoes and spreads malaria. 
During the year 1924, some of the refugee colonies on the 
Chalcidlce Peninsula lost a fifth of their population from 
malaria. The Allied and Central Armies occupied Mace- 
donian territory for about four years, and for every man 



killed by bombs, bullets and poison gas it is reported that 
twenty died from the bite of the deadly anopheles. Since the 
Great Powers, with all their resources, failed to save their 
soldiers from Macedonian mosquitoes, is it likely that 
Greece alone can save the refugees? 

Greece is not suffering much from revolutions. She is 
suffering from mosquitoes. The revolutions we read about 
are merely the Hellenic way of changing the government 

without loss of time or use of corruption funds. The 
Greeks are poor. At the prevailing rate of mortality they 
could keep on with their revolutions for five hundred years 
without killing as many people as are murdered every year 
in these United States. The farmer in Macedonia goes 
right on milking his goat, if he has the luck to have one, 
regardless of revolutions, but quinine costs money, and 
if the wrong mosquito bites him, he lies down and dies. 

Dr. Elfie Richards Graff and her associate. Miss Mabelle 
Phillips, were sent to Greece in the winter of 1925-26. 
Before taking charge of the field, they visited every station 


in order to acquaint themselves with the work. According 
to their letters, the suffering among the refugees in out- 
lying areas of Greece is greater than among the people 
in the remote districts of Russia, where they served for 
three years. 

When the Turks drove the Christian minorities out of 
their fatherland and afterward arranged under the “com- 
pulsory exchange of populations” to receive the Moslem 
people from Greece, they incidentally settled the Mace- 
donian Question — perhaps. A “voluntary exchange,” 
based upon nationality, was arranged between Greece and 
Bulgaria, and now the population of Macedonian Greece 
is overwhelmingly Greek. 

Under the sweltering summer sun or during the terrible 
months of winter, it is hard to believe that Macedonia 
was once covered with forests, which tempered the climate, 
and that the destruction of these forests was followed by 
seasonal extremes of heat and cold. And in the presence 
of a hungry people, shifted without their consent into 
wretched malarial districts to live or die, it is harder to 
believe that Macedonia was once the dominant power of 
the world; that Aristotle was born at Stagira, a few miles 
from the location of our New Mudania Hospital, and 
Alexander the Great at Pella, a ruin near our Tchaldjilar 
Hospital; that Ptolemy, a Macedonian soldier, founded the 
dynasty, which ruled Egypt for three hundred years and 
ended with Cleopatra; but the hardest task of all is to admit 
to myself and acknowledge to others, that those among the 
Christian minorities of Turkey, who put their faith in the 
Allied Powers and finally found themselves refugees in the 
rural districts of Macedonia, are worse off than those who 
crossed the Russian line and joined the Soviet. 

Macedonia has not been born again, but the country 
is in travail and the forces of rebirth are in action. Malaria 
is the curse of the land, and the cry of the refugee is for 
help against this scourge. The glory of old Macedonia was 


forgotten by most of the world long ago. For the past five 
hundred years, the pall of Turkish rule obscured the light, 
and the very name has been remembered chiefly because of 
one verse in the New Testament, which has been used as a 
text, generation after generation, wherever the Christian 
religion has been preached: 

And a vision appeared to Paul in the night; there stood a man 
of Macedonia and prayed him, saying: Come over into Mace- 
donia and help us. 

The Fate of Christiandom was in the balance. Paul, the 
Apostle, crossed the Tigean Sea from Asia Minor to 
Europe in answer to this call — and Luke, the Beloved 
Physician went with him. 

Form 45 


L 945 

Love joy 

Certain Samaritans 

Mr!:.'a8l / 3 

1 1 ll ^7 


Foim 4"940 • 9 

T O 



In case of failure to return the books the borrower agrees to pay the 
original price of the same, or to replace them with other copies. The last 
borrower is held responsible for any mutilation. 

Return this book on or before the last date stamped below. 

lliv y 


..^su i-- 

I'M 2 ! m 




in cooperation with 
AlVlRR. COIS/IM. £oi« 



I-f abulia Farr Brock -way 

i / 



8 arc/d 

jS crotch 

★ re pres cnts work of 

American wo men ’.s Hospitals 

Work in coopermt ion vrith : 

• Amer. Board at Commi55ioners 
tor Foreign Mi.s^ions 

9 Amer. Friend^’ Service Comm. 

^ Amer. Red Cross 

Near east Relief 

The A.W.H, is yyorJcinp 
in cooperation with the 
American Bkaptist Foreign 
Afissionarjr ifociety in 
Tolcyo f Fapan. 


. s 


'• \:- 

'>x,;n X 


s ' 


‘V < ■•• 

V. .'; X, • ^.. V.^ •■■• 

. •• •• S V . >* • • • V ,. X . 

••’V X'T; 

.;V V :v.- 

S ' .• • 

. « ' •.' .•; . 

•• : 

' . «• s 

X V 

-■5<"v-: X- ^^■^■i^,,xv'^^v^■;:5'^■^v:''', ' > 

, ,- . - ',Jn V .•x.x\''A, s „ ..N'-'- , . ,-\v<V-:'' 

xX v' \ XX^ Xv X,^,xx,jx- 

X \V - ^ \xX\'x x'^ 'x'' , 

\ .'x'sXV^ " ' X'\ 

^.V,,-xW.,\x.xx.. . ,x. .-,:,-,x . : ■ X. ■ ■, ..... 




!>X> .